The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Zeta on 02-09-2015, 15:15:26</h2>
		<dl id="posts">
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>02-09-2015, 15:15:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Sister Pryor had always believed it to be an ominous thing when mist gathered after the sun had set.&nbsp; From her tiny study window, she had a perfect view of the bay and the towering lighthouse that shone over the dark waters.&nbsp; The pale yellow light swung in a wide arc, cutting through the gathering night, only for the fog to swallow everything in its thick cloak once more.&nbsp; A prayer for any fool who was out on the water this night.<br><br>Just as the nun began to turn her head from the window, back to her studies, she caught a glimpse of a shadow just out the corner of her eye.&nbsp; She swung back around, but found nothing.&nbsp; She pressed her face to the window, but dew on the glass, couple with the ever-obscuring fog made it hard to see anything but vague figures.&nbsp; When she backed away, convinced it was a trick of the mind, the beam of the lighthouse swung around once more.&nbsp; <br><br>There - up on the seaside cliffs.&nbsp; It was still hard to make out anything more than a shadowy outline, but Sister Pryor could just see the shape of a man standing at the edge.&nbsp; For a moment, he stood still, just watching the waves crash below him.&nbsp; Then he lifted his arms, and he began to lean forward.&nbsp; The light on him swung too far for the sister to see the rest, but when it came back around, he was gone.&nbsp; <br><br>Pryor gasped.&nbsp; She ran from her cell, into the halls, looking for anyone who would come with her to help.&nbsp; The bell tower had just tolled 7 o'clock.&nbsp; Everyone would already be at prayer, and the young sister was late.&nbsp; If she went now, she would be scolded and told to sit down without protest.&nbsp; By the time prayer was over, it would be too late. Making up her mind, Pryor stole a lantern and ran from the abbey, fast as her short legs would take her, and hoped that she did not arrive too late.&nbsp; <br><br>The cliffs were no small distance from the abbey.&nbsp; Pryor was already out of breath long before she arrived.&nbsp; She panted heavily as she reached the shoreline, but managed enough to muster a loud, <em>"Hello?"</em>&nbsp; Pryor coughed and panted again.&nbsp; <em>"Sir?&nbsp; Anyone?"</em>&nbsp; Fog rolled along the water, making it hard to see more than a few yards before her face.&nbsp; Sister Pryor gathered her habit in her hands and made for the waters, sand squishing and scraping against her shoes and tights.&nbsp; She held up the lantern and scanned, but to no avail.&nbsp; Maybe he hadn't jumped?&nbsp; Maybe he had turned away from this folly.<br><br>A harsh wind blew, whipping salty water into Pryor's face.&nbsp; She shook her head, but as she did, she saw it.&nbsp; A dark liquid floating on the water's surface.&nbsp; The nun leaned down with the lantern, and as the light hit the water, she saw that the liquid was red.&nbsp; She gasped in horror as her eyes followed a thin trail left by the water, and there he was.&nbsp; A young man's body was dashed upon the rocks, limbs twisted and bent unnaturally.&nbsp; And yet, upon his face, half-smashed in, there seemed to be a look of delight.<br><br>Pryor crossed herself.&nbsp; <em>"God have mercy on his soul."</em><br><br>"He can't help him.&nbsp; None of them can," came a low, melodious voice.<br><br>The nun spun about in the water.&nbsp; Back on the shore stood a woman, clad in a stiff capelet and a burgundy gown puffed with several petticoats.&nbsp; Her hair, black as raven's feathers was kept in a fashionable updo, and topped with a wool cap.&nbsp; What was a fine lady like this doing out at this time of night?<br><br><em>"Turn back, miss.&nbsp; This is not a sight for your eyes."</em><br><br>The woman smiled.&nbsp; "I'm afraid it is, though.&nbsp; That young man, or what remains of him, belongs to me, now."<br><br>Pryor blinked dully and watched as the woman descended into the water.&nbsp; <em>"I'm afraid I don't understand."</em><br><br>As the woman neared, Sister Pryor could see that a small smile formed at the corners of her blood red lips, a pretty, but terrifying sight on a face of cream-colored skin, dotted with eyes yellow as a falcon's.&nbsp; "I know you don't," she said in a sing-song voice.&nbsp; "So, allow me to help you.&nbsp; Leave now.&nbsp; This is no longer your concern."<br><br><em>"Who are..."</em> the words hung in Pryor's mouth when the woman began to change.&nbsp; Her black raven's hair shrank into feathers that lined her hard face, once fair, but now lined with silver scales.&nbsp; The teeth in her mouth sharpened, and her tongue lashed out, long and pointed.&nbsp; The capelet fused to her arms, which now seemed to span twice the length of her body in massive wings.&nbsp; At the end of each sat not delicate lady's hands, but terrible claws like an eagle's talons.&nbsp; Pryor shrieked, but found the courage to reach into her habit and draw out a wooden cross.<br><br>"What, is that for me?" the woman-bird creature laughed, her voice no longer like a melody, but harsh.&nbsp; "Do you think me a demon, little sister?"&nbsp; She knocked away the trinket with a swoop of her wing.&nbsp; "I will not tell you again, leave now.&nbsp; It is not my manner to hunt the women of your kind, but I will make an exception if I must."<br><br>Pryor wasn't listening, though.&nbsp; She dropped to both knees in the bloody sea water, clasped both her hands together, and prayed.<br><br>The creature sighed, resigned.&nbsp; "Very well.&nbsp; I suppose there are some fates worse than death." The she-beast took a deep breath, and she began to sing.<br><br>And when she was done, Pryor's screams shattered the night.<br><br>The next morning, the dock workers found the nun wandering the pier, her habit soaked in salt water and sand and shredded in some places.&nbsp; <br><br><em>"Someone call for a physician!"</em> one of the men shouted.&nbsp; <em>"Sister, are you well?"</em> He draped a coat around the woman, but she merely walked away, letting it fall to the ground.<br><br>Her face was pale as death and caked with blood that also had found its way to her nails.&nbsp; The sister had been scraping at her ears all night in an attempt to rip them from her head.&nbsp; <em>"Stop, the noise, the noise, make it stop, please, forgive, forgive, forgive,"</em> she babbled pathetically, unaware of anything else except the songs of dead and forgotten gods, fires that no one could quench, and a pair of raven-black wings that beat endlessly in her mind.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>03-09-2015, 06:52:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br>“Are you sure you won't change your mind?”<br><br>Thomas looked up at the big Irishman, noting his concern as behind them the teamsters pulled wood crate after wooden crate from the bookshop and loaded them onto the waiting cart. The mild scholar removed his spectacles to clean them on a handy kerchief before replying in a soft, educated tenor. “No, Brophy, but thank you for your concern.&nbsp; I'll keep the library for now.&nbsp; The Order has paid handsomely for the rest of it, and I hope they might put it to good use, but otherwise I am done. I will of course still accept whatever research commissions that the Order might ask of me, but no.&nbsp; No more field work, my friend.&nbsp; Not after... Well, simply no more.”<br><br>The Irishman looked down at the bookstore owner and shook his head sadly. It wasn't right that this quiet and unassuming young man dressed in tweed suit with matching waistcoat and dark derby should have had to stand there while the contents of his basement were emptied out. While he was part of the Boston Lodge of the Order, he had come to respect the Oxford graduate who had settled and worked with the chapter in Castine, Maine. To hear how that Lodge had been brought so low by tragedy to leave only the one man standing had been shocking to most of the Order, Brophy included. And now a man with a mind that he could only envy was going to let it go to waste simply selling and trading books instead of trying to help humanity.<br><br>Then again, humanity had not treated Thomas Chandler very kindly, so perhaps he had a valid reason for escaping into the back shelves of his own store and delving into the dusty tomes desired only by the most obscure of collectors.&nbsp; <br><br>“Look, Mr. Chandler...”&nbsp; Brophy took a step closer so as not to be overheard by the rest of the lads. “I know you're well off and all, what with your own money and selling back all these... ah... 'items' to the Order.&nbsp; But you've got to step out of it, eh?&nbsp; When was the last time you left this place for something more than ham and eggs? You're still a young man, and while you've your right to grieve over Miss Winters and the others, it's been close to a year! It's time to move on, if you'll forgive me saying so, and you could do with a bit of fresh air!”<br><br>Gently but firmly, the Irishman turned Thomas around to look into their reflections in his shop's windows. Brophy was the classic if not stereotypical Irishman: six foot, red hair with some streaks of grey, pale skin, and freckles that looked like paint splatters across his cheeks.&nbsp; There was also the matter of the size of his shoulders which looked as though they could easily carry cannon barrels or (more likely) whiskey barrels. He made Thomas seem all the more slender in comparison. Thomas was only two inches shorter, but his narrower build was in now way comparable to the strength of his companion! It was, however, handsomer.&nbsp; Brophy was crude and craggy, whereas the academic was pleasant faced to match his demeanor, retaining an almost boyish innocence even into his twenty-eighth year of life. Before Emma Winters, his looks had attracted a share of young ladies to his side, only he hadn't known what to do with them! And they for the most part shared little interest in his hobbies or his intellect. Now his own haunted eyes of green hazel stared back at him from the window, telling him that given what had happened, perhaps it was a good thing for their sakes that they had veered off to find more common company to their liking.<br><br>“Look at that face, now,” Brophy was saying, “That there is the face of a man needing a wife. I've seen it before, sir!&nbsp; Terrible thing, just ask me own wife. Never seen a woman yet that likes a man to stay unmarried but as much as it pains me, yes, it pains me, so it does, I agree in this case.”&nbsp; The jovial act was dropped and he laid a gentle hand on the younger man's shoulder. “Get out of the house, Thomas.&nbsp; They had their lives to live up until they didn't. You still have yours.&nbsp; Don't waste it, whatever you do.”<br><br>Thomas removed his black derby and rubbed wearily at his crop of chestnut hair. “I will take your advice under consideration, my friend. But for now?&nbsp; I have my own work to see to.”&nbsp; A hint of a smile came to his lips. “If nothing else because that I fear your workmen may have left a terrible mess in basement.”<br><br>“Well, serves you right for having a basement in a port town, if you ask me, sir, which I know you didn't.”&nbsp; Brophy winked at him. “I did leave you... Well, let's call it a present.&nbsp; I know you're not handy with such things, but better to be safe than sorry. In the meantime, I should get underway with the boys, here, it being a long trip back to Boston and all. Oh!&nbsp; Before I forget, there was something...”<br><br>Thomas nearly groaned.&nbsp; He should have known that the Order would not let him off so lightly. <br><br>Brophy fished out a newspaper clipping, ragged at the edges.&nbsp; “Mr. Merryweather, he saw this here bit of news and wondered if you could look into it for us.”&nbsp; Both hands were held up to forestall any warning. “Nothing dangerous, mind you!&nbsp; He just wonders if you could jaunt up there and poke your nose around a bit.&nbsp; You know, interview some folks, investigate the scene, that sort of thing.&nbsp; We'd do it ourselves but there's this thing going on with the Exposition in Buffalo that needed looking into it.&nbsp; Bunch of runaways going to see all them pretty lights but they're disappearing before they get there.&nbsp; And what with the President being killed and all...”<br><br>“Dark times, indeed.”&nbsp; Thomas was not a particular fan of Roosevelt, but now that the madman was the new President of the United States, it was pointless to campaign against him. He glanced through the clipping, expert eyes picking up the relevant details in a heartbeat. “But surely, Brophy, you could spare a man for this? True, Haverton is only just up the coast, but-”<br><br>“Then it's settled,” Brophy cheered with a broad grin.&nbsp; “You go just up the coast, find out what you can, spend a few days relaxing away from this place at the Order's expense, and you just send anything on to Mr. Merryweather whenever you get back!”<br><br>Realizing that the big man had probably done a great deal of fast talking back in Boston in order to get Thomas an excuse to leave town for a while, he caved. There really was no excuse not to go up to Haverton.&nbsp; And he had more or less told Brophy that the Order could call upon him now and then.<br><br>“Very well, I shall... make arrangements.”<br><br>“Keep the Devil to your heels, Mr. Chandler.”&nbsp; The two men then shook hands in the strangest of ways, clasping each other's forearms and then grabbing their own wrists with the opposite hand, Brophy's was a two-fingered grip while Thomas used three. They broke apart then, nodding, and Thomas watched the cart roll down the back streets of Castine.<br><br><div align="center">~ ~ ~</div><br>The train ride was longer than he would have liked for a place that was relatively close. Haverton was a small town, an near forgotten seaside port with rocky cliffs and a shallow harbor that smugglers and pirates of yore would have praised had it not been for the steep climb up rocky steps to reach the town proper. No one really remembered when the lighthouse had last actually been manned. Other than being of historical significance to its own residents, the only other thing the town had going for it was the nunnery, and even that was a quite sort of thing; it was an architectural marvel that no one had ever seemed to really hear about.<br><br>Thomas had his plans made in advance and accommodations were awaiting him in the town, but he detoured.&nbsp; Late in the day, he strolled from the train station and along the cobblestone streets until he came to an outlook, high over the crashing waters below. Watching the light of the sunset behind him turn the waters of the North Atlantic purple with orange and silver waves glittering far below, he inhaled deeply the fresh salt-sea air.<br><br>He had always loved the ocean. It was one of the few places that calmed his sometimes anxious soul.&nbsp; Had he his druthers, he would sit upon such a precipice for hours and just watch the waves roll and roar.<br><br><em>“The ocean has its silent caves,<br>Deep, quiet and alone;<br>Though there be fury on the waves,<br>Beneath them there is none.<br>The awful spirits of the deep<br>Hold their communion there;<br>And there are those for whom we weep,<br>The young, the bright, the fair.<br><br>“Calmly the wearied seamen rest<br>Beneath their own blue sea.<br>The ocean solitudes are blest,<br>For there is purity.<br>The earth has guilt, the earth has care,<br>Unquiet are its graves;<br>But peaceful sleep is ever there,<br>Beneath the dark blue waves.”</em><br><br>How right Nathaniel Hawthorne had of it, to speak of the peace of the sea. How easy it would be to confirm that peace after all that had befallen Thomas and his friends. The temptation had been there.&nbsp; But in the end, Brophy had been right.&nbsp; He still had his life to live, and whatever might come of it, Thomas knew in his bones that the sea would always be there, waiting for him like a faithful lover at the end of a long and wearying day.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>03-09-2015, 19:53:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				If anyone in Haverton had been aware of the turn of the century, they made no show of acknowledging it.&nbsp; The small port town was relatively secluded from its neighboring cities by the sea on one side and the forest on the other.&nbsp; Horses and the seat of one's own pants were still the most common form of travel, automobiles reserved only for the truly wealthy, of which there were few.&nbsp; Its residents were split nearly into two populations, the dock men and their equally salty fishwives, or the quiet townsfolk who saw that the world continue to turn by merely being.&nbsp; Aside from the sailors who pulled into port and docked for a few nights, it was rare to receive visitors.&nbsp; A few residents peered curiously as the thin, handsome man descended from the car, but otherwise left him to his own devices.<br><br>"Do you think he's here about Sister Pryor?" whispered a woman at fruit cart, but she was quickly shushed by the seller.<br><br>It was amazing how these folk suspected strangers with no names, no pasts, and truly, no known facts at all.&nbsp; They were small-minded, others would accuse.&nbsp; But no, that seemed the wrong word to use.&nbsp; All men and women had great, large minds that stretched far beyond the capacity of their tiny skulls.&nbsp; They all possessed immense, wild imaginations - their greatest asset,and perhaps their worst enemy.&nbsp; For example, an honest man with a grim face could walk into town with nary a word and immediately be Spring-Heeled Jack come all the way from London.&nbsp; But a fair woman with a good lie and a bit of coin...<br><br>What fog had plagued the harbor of Haverton yesterday evening was blissfully absent today.&nbsp; The air was clear and crisp, and for a fine autumn day, the temperature was unusually pleasant as well.&nbsp; It was almost as if the day itself was trying to forget the horrors of the night before.&nbsp; The sea never forgot, though.&nbsp; As the waves crashed angrily against the cliffs, the light cast by the setting sun broke with the water's surface, sending fiery jewel-like droplets cascading upon the rocks.<br><br>"Red sky at morning, sailor take warning," came a voice from just behind the stranger. "Red sky at night, sailor's delight," the woman finished, slowly walking forward until she stood within arm's reach.&nbsp; She wasn't even speaking to the stranger, though.&nbsp; Her eyes were cast forward, as if there was no one present at all to hear her musings.&nbsp; There she stood, silently staring into the sunset, watching the sea with something akin to longing.<br><br>Then, unbidden, she turned to the stranger and gave an apologetic smile.&nbsp; "Please, excuse my intrusion.&nbsp; It is not often that I have the pleasure of company at this place, though."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>04-09-2015, 03:20:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br>The musical voice, so very feminine, startled Thomas from his musings, and it was with an embarrassed flush that he turned about.&nbsp; The woman was...<br><br>A deeper flush arose in his cheeks, and he swallowed nervously at the sight of her.&nbsp; She was poised and alluring, and he found it very difficult to look away from her.&nbsp; Boldness, however, was not a quality he had in abundance. Abashed, Thomas found himself looking at the ground between them for not knowing where else to set his eyes. His mind scrambled to find some reply that was neither trite nor simple.&nbsp; Had she heard him murmuring Hawthorne's lines to himself as he stared out at the sea?&nbsp; Very likely. No doubt she might think him a fool or trespasser or both.&nbsp; Lacking suave charm, Thomas relied upon honesty.<br><br>“Forgive me, I... did not hear you approach.”&nbsp; A true enough statement!&nbsp; Between the crashing of waves and the flow of wind that rustled the grasses growing all about the overhang, not to mention the ever whispering thoughts of his own mind, it would have taken an elephant trumpeting its arrival to be noticed. A beautiful and elegant woman with dark hair and eyes so light a brown as to be golden yellow stood little chance of being noticed under such conditions. Thomas reflected internally that it was a shame.&nbsp; Such a magnificent woman as she deserved to be noticed. “Nor did I mean to intrude or trespass, there's no signs and so I believe it to be public land, and it's simply that...”<br><br>He sighed wistfully and turned towards the sea once more. “Well, I fear I do not get out often enough these days and the sight was simply too much to pass pay without giving some respect to nature, I suppose.”<br><br>Her own quote stirred memories in his head.&nbsp; Well read passages came to his tongue, and it was a matter of trivia that linked the sailor's adage to a bit of Shakespeare.&nbsp; Speaking in his pleasant tenor, Thomas gestured out to sea and gave air to the passage:<br><br><em>“Like a red morn that ever yet betokened,<br>Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,<br>Sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds,<br>Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.”</em><br><br>That quote in turn went back to the Bible, he recalled.&nbsp; Matthew, although the chapter and verse were beyond him at the moment. The hand dropped and he inhaled deeply once more. “But I fear I must admit that I have always favored happier texts. As a boy, I dreamed of being a jolly sailor bold, plowing the main as a pirate or perhaps serving as captain aboard some frigate with the wind in my teeth and the boards beneath my feet.”<br><br><em>“My soul is full of longing<br>for the secret of the sea,<br>and the heart of the great ocean<br>sends a thrilling pulse through me.” </em><br><br>Feeling silly, Thomas looked back over his shoulder at the woman and smiled wanly. No doubt she thought him full of drivel as many a woman had before, and would either exile him or flee herself. “My pardon, miss, I find myself given to flights of fancy today.”&nbsp; He doffed his derby like a true gentleman and bowed his head a little. “Thomas Chandler, at your service.”&nbsp; <br><br>A hesitation came over him as he realized that he had not the slightest clue as to what he should do next! How much had he babbled already?? Did any of what he had said make the slightest bit of sense&nbsp; to her? Abashed, he bit his lower lip before helplessly adding,&nbsp; “If my presence bothers you, I can...”<br><br>What?&nbsp; There was much he could do and much that he shouldn't. In his mind he would carry himself off and head into town where his landlord to be was no doubt awaiting him and his coin.&nbsp; But was that what he wanted?&nbsp; Thomas wasn't sure. And so the words were left to hang in the air between them. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>04-09-2015, 14:35:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				A serene smile crossed her red lips as she watched the young man floundering in his embarrassment and his pretty words.&nbsp; "And so the world of the academics gained a fine scholar, but the sea lost a man would have made a bonny sailor.&nbsp; More's the pity.&nbsp; <br><br>"No, this is public.&nbsp; And yet, I have been coming here for over a fortnight, and this is the first that I have encountered another soul at this hour.&nbsp; I often come here at dusk to watch the sun surrender the sky to the moon."&nbsp; Her gaze drifted back out to the sea, and the waning light gave her golden eyes an iridescent glow.&nbsp; "Do you think he does so with jealousy, or with longing for the companion he can never hold?"<br><br>Now it was her turn to be fanciful, she supposed.&nbsp; She looked away, a little bashful.&nbsp; "Please, do not make yourself uneasy on my account, Mr. Chandler.&nbsp; I would gladly welcome the presence of another admirer of the sea.&nbsp; I am Ariadne Williams," she spoke with a little bow.&nbsp; "Would you stay a little while, or do you have matters to attend to?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>04-09-2015, 16:48:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The expression of surprise upon his features was telling, as was the faint blush that filled his cheeks. His slightly stumbling reply only reinforced the notion that, shocked as he was to be so invited, he was quite pleased at the notion.<br><br>“A pleasure, Miss Williams!&nbsp; A pleasure, and... No, I have no other pressing matters.&nbsp; I'm actually on something of a holiday. Well, a working-holiday I suppose you might call it.” If interviewing an insane nun and prodding my nose about town might be called 'working', that is.&nbsp; Thomas shoved that to the back of his mind for the moment to instead breath in the ambience of the evening sea and the lovely woman who had come upon him. “To be quiet honest, I'm never fully satisfied until the sun has fully set.”<br><br>He smiled ruefully at her like a naughty school boy. “Although I expect that, having forgotten to bring a lantern of any sort, it will be a most interesting trip back into town!”<br><br>Turning his gaze once more upon the ocean, the smile still hung about his lips as he took in the beauty of it all. Quiet as he had become, his mind was still mulling over what Miss Williams had said. <br><br>“Both, perhaps?” he finally replied to her.&nbsp; For all that there were both being silly in their fancies, Thomas's answer to her question was taken most seriously. The moon was starting to make herself known on the far horizon then, a sliver coming up and over the waters to warn of the stars to come. “If we are to anthropomorphize the sun and moon, then we should credit them with being as complex and intricate as any human soul. Maybe the sun is jealous of the sea, frustrated in its loss, but only because he can never fully share it with her. And if the moon does flee him, is it because she runs out of terror or out of wicked teasing? The sun might be chasing her while all the while she is truly hunting him.”<br><br>“Maybe it's fear,” Thomas added with sudden and sad insight.&nbsp; “If he did catch her, what would he do with her?&nbsp; His own brilliance would blind him to her beauty, and for her part? If she caught him? It would be like an eclipse.&nbsp; She would smother his light to leave only a glowing a nimbus, and who is to say that it would be the same sun that came out against behind her? And yet they can not help each other, I fear. It's an endless game of tag, for the only possible ending is too fearful for either of them to contemplate as they are stuck fast in their compelling natures.”<br><br>Thomas could feel a stretch of maudlin emotion coming on, some of it leaking out in his wistful voice, but he did his best to restrain his dark mood even as he said, “Perhaps the happiest ending would be that they caught each other, sinking into the sea together to leave the world to the mercy of the spinning stars?”<br><br>He grinned wryly at his own eccentricity, a soft and self-depreciating chuckle behind it. “Of course, then two people newly acquainted upon a grassy bluff would not then be able to romanticize over the love lives of celestial objects in a shared moment of whimsy."<br><br>Erratically, he wondered if his bow tie were straight.&nbsp; <br><br>“Are you local to Haverton, Miss Williams?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>04-09-2015, 17:46:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"A 'working holiday', Mr. Chandler?"&nbsp; Her mouth curled into a bemused smirk. "Is that not a contradiction?&nbsp; I was always of the impression that you took one or the other - both seems a bit ambitious.&nbsp; What work brings you to fair Haverton, then?&nbsp; For all its beauty, I would have to imagine that it's not the sea. There are far more accessible landings with greater attractions."&nbsp; And yet, she inclined her head and bat her eyelashes in such a coy manner to have almost silently said, <em>And yet, none of those attractions might include me.</em><br><br>A sharp wind blew past, bringing with it the chill of autumn and fine cool spray.&nbsp; Ariadne shivered, then produced a pair of gloves.&nbsp; As she pulled them onto each long, slender finger, she flexed her hand so sharply that one might mistake her for reaching out to snatch something.&nbsp; <br><br>"Yes," she replied, "And no.&nbsp; I've have resided in Haverton for six months, now.&nbsp; Personal assistant to Haverton's solicitor, Mr. T.H Marsters, who handled my great-aunt's affairs before she passed.&nbsp; She was native to Haverton.&nbsp; So, you could say that I am acquainted, but not local by the standards of many of the residents hereabouts."<br><br>The melancholy in Thomas' voice was unmistakable - almost palpable.&nbsp; She had never given serious thought to the daily exchange between the sun and moon, just a passing fancy here or there.&nbsp; Had he done so, though, or was there something else he wished to say, something too deep to draw from him?&nbsp; She gave him an appraising look, and said in a voice without condescension, "You speak for sadly for one so young."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>05-09-2015, 17:28:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There was naught for Thomas to do but hold his hands out helplessly at her question of his working while on vacation, a gesture that with a small smile suggested that things were what they were, and that there was little on could do about them. He was not about to admit to the dark haired lady that he was there to investigate a nun who had in her insanity torn her earlobes off. It was hardly the sort of topic one brought up in such company!&nbsp; “I have some research to conduct, some reading to do, a few meetings to arrange. It shouldn't take much time, but it was highly suggested by those I work for that I take some time off while I was here to enjoy the quiet. I was told that the local abby was quite the architectural wonder, for example, and that Haverton has a small but highly select collection of books in its library. There is a translation of Homer's <em>Odyssey</em> from the early sixteen century with marginalia in an unknown script that I hope to examine.”<br><br>It was noted how she looked away, the tone of her words shyly spoken. Inexperienced at romance as he was, the scholar was far from immune to either her feminine wiles personal charms. Exciting as the idea of pouring over a four hundred year old book might be to him, he found the immediate setting far more enjoyable.<br><br>“And there <em>might </em>be finer locales,” he admitted as though doubtfully testing the idea, “but I have been in Haverton a few short hours, Miss Williams. And I am already finding attractions here much to my liking.”&nbsp; Reserved as the shy comment was, it was plainly address to her beauty and grace. Had he been bolder, more assured, he might have stepped forward to slip his fingers beneath that fine chin and raise her gloriously golden eyes to his own of healthy green.&nbsp; Thomas had been raised a polite gentleman, however; it was not in his nature to be so forward with a woman whom he didn't know.<br><br>“As for speaking sadly?”&nbsp; The smallest of shrugs and another gentle smile. He didn't believe her to be any older than himself, and perhaps she was even a few years his junior. “I hope it is the shared youth between us that gives you that revelation and not the sorrow itself.”&nbsp; <em>No, no talking about Emma, now.&nbsp; Not about her nor any of the others</em>.&nbsp; He had dwelt on what had happened for so long that it had become a burden, and it was only Brophy's machinations that were allowing him to recognize it now. Thomas would never shake free completely from those horrible memories, but he could try to distance himself from them.&nbsp; And wasn't that what his Irish friend had suggested?&nbsp; Besides which, when a beautiful woman was present, a learned and polite gentleman listened to what <em>she</em> had to say. The topic was politely dropped.<br><br>He started then, realizing what the motions of her pulling on her gloves might mean, and without a second thought he shrugged out of his warm, tweed jacket to present it to her. “Please.&nbsp; It is getting most chill, I would hate to see you catch cold, Miss Williams.” 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>08-09-2015, 00:58:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				If Ariadne had taken any notice of the meek flirtation device, she made no outward show of it.&nbsp; The woman was far more preoccupied with other matters on which he spoke, particularly, the manner in which he told half-truths and glossed over items of curiosity.&nbsp; <br><br>Her brow shifted imperceptibly at the mention of Haverton's abbey, followed in short sequence by the Homer's chef d'oeuvre.&nbsp; "Is the scholar curious about the trials of Odysseus, or is the sailor looking for the tale of a voyage fraught with adventure? I am always fascinated that they paint Poseidon as an unfairly vindictive god, but ignore that the king of Ithaca was a scoundrel in his own right.&nbsp; Surely, the nights that Penelope cried herself to sleep, Calypso cried out in pleasure."&nbsp; As if briefly remembering herself, she added a hasty, "But I suppose that is merely a childish woman's speculation."<br><br>She glanced at the proffered coat, then flicked her gazed towards the gentleman, mild disinterest now glazing over her eyes.&nbsp; "Thank you kindly for the offer, but I fear the time has passed without my notice, and I must return."&nbsp; Her smile was still present, but a little of the warmth had gone out of it.&nbsp; "Pray, excuse me."&nbsp; With that, and not waiting for a gallant offer to be escorted back to her residence or likewise destination, Ariadne gave a nod and turned to leave.&nbsp; Several steps from the point, she paused, looked over her shoulder, and said with some of her original amiability, "If you should wish to call on me, I am just above the solicitor's office.&nbsp; Good night, Mr. Chandler, and good luck in your studies."<br><br>With the descent of the sun, Haverton had very swiftly been cast into darkness, save the light of a waxing moon and the few street lamps installed along the main route, but on Ariadne Williams walked, head held high afraid of nothing the shadows might have hidden.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>08-09-2015, 03:52:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Miss Williams reply stunned him a bit, if for no other reason than that her allusion to Odysseus and his more dishonorable leanings did not far too fall from his own!&nbsp; Certainly he was curious about a text dating back close to four hundred years!&nbsp; The older the translation, the closer one was to the original source! And the young lady's premise struck hard for Thomas, for what he hoped to find in the marginalia of this particular text was a comprehensive comparison to Virgil's <em>Aeneid</em>, a Roman work that found the sly and deceitful qualities of the Greek hero to be nothing sort of dishonorable! John Dryden's translation pointed to it as such, but Thomas could find an earlier text...<br><br>He was on the verge of opening his mouth, coat still in hand, to ask Miss Williams her thoughts on Odysseus's relationship with Circe, and further more on whether the<em> Iliad </em>and the <em>Odyssey</em> might really be portraying its protagonists less as a hero and more of a cautionary anti-hero since he was the son of a 'conniving king', and perhaps she might have read and have some thoughts on the Morris &amp; Wyatt translation of <em>Beowulf </em>that had just been released in-<br><br>She cut him off cold. There was no attempt to hide the disappoint in his face.&nbsp; Whereas before she had been merely alluring, now Miss Williams was absolutely <em>fascinating</em>!&nbsp; Fascinating and... disinterested in him, it seemed. Dejected, a brief hope in the recent darkness of his life dimmed, Thomas Chandler stood there with tweed jacket in hand like a dolt as she walked away.<br><br>Had he offended her somehow?? She had not even given the scholar a chance to reply to her question regarding whether he was seeking adventure or knowledge, merely ended the conversation on her own terms.&nbsp; He would have gladly escorted her home if only to draw her further into the conversation.&nbsp; No chance was given though. Miss William's words, for all they come closer to her original pleasantness, did little to soothe him.<br><br>“Yes, Miss Williams,” he murmured, “I... of course, thank you.&nbsp; Good night, then.”<br><br>Thomas lowered his gaze to the collar of his coat, feeling the coarse weave of it more than actually seeing it. The depression settled on him again.&nbsp; It was just a chance meeting, true, and he knew it was irrational to hope that his friend's advice might find some proof of validity so quickly.&nbsp; But Thomas found himself saddened.&nbsp; To have met someone so beautiful and so perceptive?&nbsp; What were the chances?&nbsp; And somehow he had managed to put her off, as he had with quite a number of women in his day. All save Emma, consigned to a cold grave now.<br><br>Humorlessly, he snorted and turned his gaze back towards the sea.&nbsp; The stars were out now, glaring down from on high as though perplexed by these little things called mortals that stared back up at them.&nbsp; It was for their reflections in the whitecaps below that Thomas looked to, though, not upwards.<br><br>“At least you'll never leave me, I suppose,” he whispered to the ocean.&nbsp; Thomas fancied it answered him back in its own way before he sighed and began his trudge back into town to find his landlord and landlady waiting for his tardy self. Not the best of impressions perhaps, but he was paying the old couple well for the room and board. That combined with his Old World manners and quiet refinement made the Milligans less prone to annoyance.<br><br>Shuffling down the lane, Thomas did briefly wonder if... at some point... he might need the services of a solicitor...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>08-09-2015, 15:02:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				In a town as small as Haverton, boarding houses were scarce and unpopular, and vacant apartments, even less so.&nbsp; Acquaintances claimed that Miss Williams had been quite lucky to find her residence - only two weeks prior to her arrival, its original tenant had quite suddenly declared that he was needed abroad and vanished without so much as a by-your-leave.&nbsp; Of course, Ariadne never put much stock in luck.&nbsp; She was much more satisfied to guide things with her own hand.<br><br>Her quarters were spartan, even for one of her station.&nbsp; A few pieces of essential furniture were scattered about the room - a couch, a desk and chair, a table.&nbsp; Her bedroom was worse - a bed and a mostly empty dresser.&nbsp; But Ariadne was never prone to staying in one location for long, and growing attached to corporeal things would not bode well.&nbsp; Several decades ago, she had once gone for weeks without clothing after a hasty departure (though, she had learned many things in that time, and her mistakes were never repeated).&nbsp; <br><br>When Ariadne returned to her room, she stripped down to her undergarments, wiggled into her nightgown, and would have begun brushing out her hair but for three sharp taps at her window.&nbsp; She rose and lifted the latch.&nbsp; Immediately, a small screech owl swooped into her chambers, dropped a roll of parchment on her desk, then looked expectantly up at the woman.<br><br>"Is it a reward or a reply that you seek, you little scamp?"&nbsp; Ariadne snorted, went to a cabinet, and threw some sort of jerky or unidentifiable scrap of meat to her little visitor, who gobbled it up in a flash, but still sat on her desk.&nbsp; "Of course.&nbsp; A reply.&nbsp; The crones still take me for a child."&nbsp; She didn't even need to read the message brought to her before she whipped out a piece of paper and a quill and penned a curt answer.<br><br>"The hunter has come and will reach out for the first breadcrumb shortly.&nbsp; He is my prey now.&nbsp; Send no more messengers; it will not do to have a flock of owls at my stoop each night."&nbsp; <br><br>That would send the old ones into a fit, but Ariadne had no patience for their meddling.&nbsp; She strapped the message to the owl, whistled a few lines, then watched the messenger bear her letter into the night.&nbsp; Her duty complete, she sat back to tend to her toilette and mused on her unknowing hunter.&nbsp; What was the kind of woman that he would desire?&nbsp; The frail mouse?&nbsp; The lusty vixen?&nbsp; The worldly scholar?&nbsp; Or a mixture of the three?&nbsp; If he wished to know any of them, the woman he would first need to seek was the mad nun, locked in her tower of stone.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>10-09-2015, 03:29:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br>The Milligans were somewhat perturbed by his late arrival, but Thomas's natural deference and his honest reply that he had been distracted by the beautiful view of the ocean that Haverton had to offer sufficed to put them at ease.&nbsp; So, too, did their guest's earnest insistence that he pay them in full up front for a full month's board. He had the funds to do so.&nbsp; Thomas was not wealthy by any means, but as a dealer in rare in erotic books he had a bit set aside. His expenses were to be covered by the Order anyway.&nbsp; They had always proven themselves as good as their word in such matters.&nbsp; Mr. Merryweather might not be too thrilled to see it was an entire month's worth of expenses, but Thomas believed in thoroughness. If they wanted him to do this task for the Order, he was going to do it right.<br><br>In the middle of the night, he woke sharply. Lungs gasped for breath.&nbsp; Thomas was drenched in sweat, his eyes wide in terror, and his heart pounded so fiercely in his chest that he could hear it in his ears. The bass of it smoothed out even the snoring of Mr. Milligan down the hallway.&nbsp; The room was enveloped in darkness save for the slimmest sliver of moonlight that came beaming through the curtained window, light that just made the rest of his bed chamber all the darker.&nbsp; <br><br>He had seen them again.&nbsp; The faces. They had been cold and still and stuffed with writhing maggots in their earthen graves, mouths gaping open wordlessly as their sightless eye sockets looked accusingly at him. Corpses, stiff and rotting, all of them.&nbsp; Yet they were alive.&nbsp; Somehow those savaged and destroyed bodies in their collapsing coffins were still alive, and they were calling to him. Among them all was one voice, a feminine one, pleading to her love, pleading to Thomas to come and join them where he belonged. It was wrong of him to still feel the wind upon his face and stand upon the drying grasses and smell the rolling ocean that teamed with life. It was wrong of him to still be alive when they were not, even if it had been simply by chance.<br><br>Thomas had not screamed or shouted in waking from his night terror.&nbsp; But he did curl up, forehead upon his arms and resting upon his drawn up knees, and he wept long and choking sobs. The same thought went around and around in his head for several hours before he managed to fall asleep. 'I should have been with them... I should be with them... I should have been there... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry I wasn't there, Emma...'<br><br>Come the morning, he pulled himself out of bed and prepared himself for facing another day in the knowledge that he didn't really deserve it. <br><br>The first thing he should have done was to head to the abby to interview the stricken nun. The scholar had called upon his more obscure credentials and the Order's incredibly distant but established ties to the Roman Catholic Church to get himself an interview. It was pressing the truth to say that he was an agent of the Church.&nbsp; Thomas had been raised Methodist and had become something of an agnostic in the past few years, the power of his own belief being nothing compared to the power of his inquisitive intellect. The mother superior would be expecting him.<br><br>It should have been the first thing that he did that morning, it being a logical progression of his purpose.&nbsp; Thomas, however, had other ideas.<br><br>Haverton was not large. It normally would not have taken a pedestrian long to cross from one end of the town to the other, perhaps an hour or two at most. Thomas, however, took his sweet time.&nbsp; He strolled along seemingly aimless in his explorations of the town, and he appeared quite content in seeing all that it had to offer.&nbsp; He didn't stop to converse with anyone.&nbsp; Those who passed by him or who saw the thin man sauntering along past their porches and stores were all acknowledged by him pleasantly. No one was sparred a tip of the hat or small, unaffected smile of greeting. The visitor was everything one might expect of a slightly absent minded and eccentric professor. Which is exactly what he was.<br><br>Thomas was distracted because he wasn't looking at people, not really. Nor was he searching for anything in particular. The academic walked along to see what there was in the landscape and style of housing, noting what sort of shops Haverton had and what they sold. The library's location was found, noted, and... passed. He would come back later.&nbsp; At the cemetery on the outskirts of town, the man in the tweed suit lingered by the graveyard, and only occasionally looked at a gravestone or three in passing. <br><br>What no one might expect, even those in the Order, was that Thomas was doing his job. In his experience, the most telling clues were often hidden in plain sight. Haverton was small, but it was also... odd. Niggling little details and bits of overheard gossip stuck in his ears even as he blithely wandered about.&nbsp; He took lunch at the town's single cafe, sincerely pleasant to everyone and tipping no more than anyone else might. No doubt he presented himself as quite the queer character as he sat there reading a recently received printing of Kipling's From Sea to Sea &amp; Other Sketches, Letters of Travels. Thomas found the author's articles regarding his world wide travels of great interest.&nbsp; So much so, that he was startled by the waitress when she asked of there was anything else more.<br><br>It was late afternoon by the time he had finally headed in the direction of the abbey. The sun was at just the right angle in the sky for what was to follow, provided of course that in his letters with the mother superior he had made himself clear in regards to exactly what was needed: a dark room with a single source of bright light from the outside. Natural light worked best for the sort of thing he had planned. <br><br>Passing by the solicitor's house Thomas slowed, glancing towards the second floor for a pair of heartbeats before sighing and continuing onwards. Of late, he had been much of the opinion that there was a great deal for him to regret in his life; what was one more thing?&nbsp; Miss Ariadne Williams last words were mere kind politeness, he believed, some... residual kindness of womanhood that he would never understand as a man but was surely part of the rejection. It was better to finish the work he had in front of him than to dwell on the fantasy of a woman being interested in a man of intellect and not action.&nbsp; Interview the nun, talk to a few faces around town once they got used to him, read a few back issues of the local newspaper, and then submit his bill and findings to the Order. After that?&nbsp; Who knew?&nbsp; Maybe Haverton might be the sort of place to retire to.&nbsp; Maybe he would travel for a bit, sail around the world and chase after his childhood dream.&nbsp; Or maybe he would return to his dead writings in dead language on dead paper where the neither he nor the living would have to endure one another's company.<br><br>His thoughts still maudlin, Thomas came to the main door of the abbey.&nbsp; “Thomas Chandler,” he introduced himself when the door was answered. “The mother superior should be expecting me?&nbsp; I'm the mesmerist sent to see about Sister Pryor.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>10-09-2015, 15:52:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The sister who attended the door of Our Lady of Holy Hope regarded the newcomer suspiciously, but otherwise offered no resistance to his entry.&nbsp; Was it resentment that seemed to darken her gaze?&nbsp; The mere mention of Sister Pryor on this outsider's lips? She spoke no words to Mr. Chandler, but led him silently to the office of their Reverend Mother.&nbsp; <br><br>The abbey was remarkably sparse, even for an institution of its kind.&nbsp; Relics and other such paraphernalia were largely kept in the sanctuary, while cells and cubbyholes were furnished with simple wooden furniture, but little else.&nbsp; The real beauty of the abbey interior, however, was in the woodwork.&nbsp; Long ago, when the abbey was first built, some carpenter must have deeply loved his tools and his media.&nbsp; Rows of vines and roses looked as though they'd been embedded in the skirting baseboard along the floor, and not merely carved.&nbsp; Biblical scenes lined the walls of the hallway, unblinking wooden eyes watching the passersby in silent judgment and envy, as if ready to emerge. <br><br>"Reverend Mother?"&nbsp; The nun quietly knocked on a large, oak door, then pushed past the threshold.&nbsp; Sitting at a broad desk, stacked high in books and papers that were so neatly arranged that the pile almost seemed solid, was a woman nearing her 50th year. An austere woman, her face, though far from wizened, was worn and carried years that did not belong to her.&nbsp; Her mouth was stretched tight in something less than a frown.&nbsp; The Reverend Mother looked up from her work, and a flash of fear, followed by annoyance, then finally recognition crossed her features.<br><br>"Ah.&nbsp; Yes, Mr. Chandler."&nbsp; Reverend Mother rose and greeted the stranger.&nbsp; "Thank you, Sister Mary Catherine.&nbsp; You are free to go."&nbsp; The nun cast another disapproving glance at Thomas, then scurried off.&nbsp; "I confess that I was... a bit perplexed at your calling us on behalf of Sister Pryor.&nbsp; I have no great love for these new 'healing' techniques, but in this case..."&nbsp; She sighed.&nbsp; "Well.&nbsp; I suppose you shall see for yourself.&nbsp; Come along."&nbsp; <br><br>The Mother led Thomas through the abbey, past ostensibly studying nuns who couldn't help but chance curious glances.&nbsp; At the end of the hall, Reverend Mother unlocked a solid oak door, then showed the so-called mesmerist inside.&nbsp; Strapped to a small, narrow bed, Sister Pryor lied in her night gown, short hair matted to her forehead with dry sweat and spittle.&nbsp; Her eyes were wide open in terror, though they seemed to see nothing around her.&nbsp; While most of the clotted blood had been cleaned away, hideous scabs still remained around her temples and what were once her ears.&nbsp; Her breathing was shallow, but even.<br><br>"We have had to keep her restrained, lest she lash out and do harm to the other sisters or herself.&nbsp; Her ears are blocked with cotton and beeswax, or else the sound of our singing at prayers causes her suffering.&nbsp; We would have kept her more heavily sedated, but, at your request, we've lowered the dosage.&nbsp; She is... cognizant."&nbsp; Even so, Pryor would occasionally twitch and mutter something unintelligible before falling back into her catatonia.<br><br>"Please, Mr. Chandler.&nbsp; Do what you can."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>12-09-2015, 20:13:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>'New healing techniques...'</em>&nbsp; Thomas managed to stop himself from correcting the Reverend Mother, the reply so close to the tip of his tongue that he almost offered up how the techniques he planned to employ were actually <em>older</em> than established modern medicine and had in fact been in some parts substantiated by current theories of psychiatry! Only honestly made him hold that tongue and instead offer a reassuring, sympathetic smile. For all of its history and uses, he'd picked up mesmerism as a party trick several years ago.&nbsp; It wasn't until much later in life that Thomas had found it to be something far more useful than to charm a freshman into clucking like a chicken whenever a certain professor mentioned the name 'Euripides.'&nbsp; <br><br>He doffed his hat and stared in pity at the poor sister as she lay in her bed.&nbsp; Everything was laid out much as he had requested in his letter, right down to keeping the light in the cell down to a single, narrow beam coming from the window. He'd tried it with candlelight; it just never had seemed as effective as the striking natural light of the sun. A small tray of additional objects was set close at hand as well, ones he prayed that he might not need.<br><br>“I will do whatever is in my power,” he warmly reassured the mother superior. “At the least, I might be able to provide her with some comfort for a time. How long?&nbsp; It will all depend, I'm afraid.”<br><br>There was the rub.&nbsp; The news article and what little gossip he'd picked up around town had informed him that Sister Pryor was hearing <em>something</em>.&nbsp; Only was that sound coming from within or without?&nbsp; That she still had to be sedated even when her ears were plugged with wax told him that whatever maddening din she heard came from within somehow, while the Reverend Mother's statement that the sounds of hymns and singing prayers made it all the more agonizing for the sister to bear indicated some outside source.<br><br>“Unless it's both,” he murmured, forgetting the mother superior's presence for a moment. An idea began to form. “Singing <em>prayers</em>...&nbsp; <em>Holy </em>words... clashing like waves against the rocks... multiple echoes creating an audible chaos that doesn't deafen...”<br><br>Thomas glanced at the older nun and gave another apologetic smile as he bushed his glasses up further onto his nose. “My apologies, Reverend Mother.&nbsp; Let us begin.&nbsp; There are no prayers or mass at this time, correct?&nbsp; Good.&nbsp; I would have you stay as witness, please?”<br><br>Setting his hat down upon the same low table as the tray, he pulled a wooden chair closer to Sister Pryor's bed.&nbsp; The bloody sight of what remained of her ear lobes made him grimace.&nbsp; He'd never been good with such things. That had been what the rest of the lodge was for, but now without them...<br><br>From his coat pocket, he slowly drew a silver chain from the end of which dangled a tear-drop crystal that was half the length of his thumb. Multi-faceted, it caught the rays of the low sun as he held it up directly in the path of that lonely beam from the window. Refracting and reflecting, the crystal threw faint sparkles of color all around the room.&nbsp; More obviously, it positively glowed with light! Such was the craftsmanship that when light passes through its core, the polished clear quartz appeared to be illuminated from within.&nbsp; Thomas had spent a great deal of effort and time in locating a Herkimer diamond of just the right size and composition for his pendulum, and finding a jeweler that he could afford to have it shaped to his specifications had been even more of a challenged. But it would work. He was sure of it. It was designed to draw the eye, to want to be looked at. Holding it before Sister Pryor's eyes, judging where her focal point might be, Thomas let the chain twirl in his fingers so as to make it shine all the more.<br><br>This was just the beginning, though. Thomas needed to make sure that the stricken nun heard real sound, sound that she would know was from without. One arm was freed from the restraints. Gentle as a father with his baby daughter, the scholar lifted her one limp hand to lay her fingertips upon his voice box, just above the bow tie.&nbsp; He kept his eyes on his patient as he gave more instructions to the Reverend Mother.<br><br>“I beg you, madam, please do not speak or utter so much as a sound from here on out. Not even under your breath. And especially not anything religious.”&nbsp; It was a cruel thing to ask of a woman who had dedicated her life to God, but one wrong utterance... “When I nod my head, please take the cotton and wax out of her ears. She may react at first, so do not be surprised.&nbsp; If I can get her to speak, some of what she may say will be delusional, so please don't bother worrying yourself if it seems insensible.”<br><br>He waited for the abbess to follow his instructions, nervous and praying that this would indeed work. Thomas was fairly sure it would. <em>Then again, Bartleby and Meade and Miss Winters and the rest of them had all been 'fairly sure,' and look where they were now. But I can't think of any other way. </em>A deep breath to strengthen his resolve was taken, followed by a sharp nod to his witness.<br><br>Before the plugs were a scant centimeter away from the patient's ears, before she even had time to draw breath as the rush of sound entered, Thomas was speaking in a low drone that did not cut through any possible raucous din she might be hearing but instead flowed smoothly beneath it. He'd once been told that he had a pleasant speaking voice. He used it now.&nbsp; More over, the vibrations directly from his larynx carried down into Sister Pryor's fingertips, confirming that above all others his voice was real and had physical substance to it.<br><br>“Look into the crystal, Sister.&nbsp; No sound but mine, no sight but light, see it spin, see it spin. No sound but mine, no sight but light, see it spin, see it spin. That's it, no sound but mine, no sight but light, see it spin, see it spin...”&nbsp; The hushed chant spoken in his light tones wove a sort of magic of their own as the rhythmic droning eased subtly into the ambient noise about them.<br><br>Mesmerism had been used to help calm the insane.&nbsp; There were a multitude of studies on the subject over the centuries. Thomas could only hope that his skill was enough to pierce through the cacophony that was in her head to bring her some peace and him some answers. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>13-09-2015, 03:54:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				'Skeptical' would have been a generous word for what it was that Reverend Mother was feeling.&nbsp; If Thomas Chandler proved to be nothing more than a charlatan, she would have gladly taken him by the hairs just above his ear and dragged him out the abbey doors, all the while giving him a firm lecture on the evils of taking advantage of the sisters of the order.&nbsp; So far, she was unimpressed by this little snake oil show, with his little trinkets and commands, and to say nothing of the impropriety of holding Sister Pryor's hand to his skin!&nbsp; She nearly huffed when he bade her speak nothing, not even prayers, and made to pull him away, but her hand paused mid-swing.&nbsp; Reverend Mother stumbled back, her hands to her mouth to stifle a gasp.&nbsp; Pryor's breathing became deep, if labored.&nbsp; Her eyes were coming back into focus, resting intently on the spinning quartz, and there were quiet tears streaming down her cheeks.&nbsp; <br><br>"God, art thou still dead?&nbsp; Why, why have you..." the young sister burbled with a dry voice.&nbsp; Her tongue was thick, and it felt awkward to speak after what seemed like a millennium of her own silence.&nbsp; Melodies played rapidly through her mind's ear, like a record set on a gramophone that was rotating too quickly.&nbsp; And yet, she heard the words ever so clearly, their dark truths mocking her and tearing her into shreds, only to piece her back in the wrong order.&nbsp; She could see reality, and all that the world had been and would ever be, and... and...<br><br>And, no... she could see something else.&nbsp; There, just beyond her eyes, the sun was glistening like a thousand diamonds.&nbsp; Oh, how furious Reverend Mother would be to know of such opulence and - And Reverend Mother.&nbsp; She could remember Reverend Mother's face once more.&nbsp; Oh, Lord, if only she could hold onto that face before it slipped away again, melting and twisting into decaying sinew to be feasted upon by the scavengers and the carrion-eaters.&nbsp; No, no, no, she was slipping away again.&nbsp; She just needed something - anything.&nbsp; Her fingers began to curl and tighten, and her nails dragged against something soft.&nbsp; <br><br>Soft.&nbsp; Sort and warm.&nbsp; Pryor gasped.&nbsp; She could feel again.&nbsp; More than that, she felt something moving beneath her fingertips, slowly undulating like the beat of a heart.&nbsp; It seemed to be accompanied by something as comforting as a heart as well.&nbsp; There were words, gently spoken, unlike the harsh cacophony that echoed in her ears.&nbsp; If only she could make out what was being said.&nbsp; What a soft voice, what a soft... man's voice?&nbsp; Man... men... men were nothing more than food to be - No!&nbsp; She had to hold on.&nbsp; She couldn't let her mind slip back again.&nbsp; Her eyes stared straight ahead, and she could see now - it wasn't a sun, though it shimmered like a star.&nbsp; If she could just keep her mind there, she could come out again.&nbsp; She could pull herself from that unending darkness.<br><br>"Please," she begged quietly to whoever it was who was trying to save her.&nbsp; "Please, help me."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>15-09-2015, 05:58:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It was all Thomas could do to keep from breathing a sigh of relief. He had gotten through to her, brought her under.&nbsp; That was the easier part of this, however glad he was of it, and for him to garner any information much less save her, there were several more hurdles to clear. If he were absolutely honest with himself, he would have to admit that he didn't know if there was any saving of Sister Pryor.&nbsp; He might bring her peace for a limited time, yes. But depending on what it was that was affecting her and how strong it was, there was every chance that she could slip back into whatever nightmare he had roused her from. All he could do was the best that he could do.<br><br>First thing was first, though.&nbsp; Thomas had to get the information. And he had to do it in a way that wouldn't put her directly through those same events again that had destroyed her mind and driven her to madness.&nbsp; Thankfully, he had thought of this ahead of time.<br><br>“Shhh,” he droned back to her, “I will do what I can. But you must listen to my voice and not any other that you may hear, Sister Pryor. Focus only on my voice and the light.&nbsp; I'm going to count to three, and when I do you will close your eyes but you will still see the light. Even though your eyes are shut, the light will still be there and so will my voice.&nbsp; One... Two... Three...”<br><br>Waiting until he was sure her eyes were closed, Thomas prepared himself mentally. It was just as important that he have the images that he was describing in his head as it was for her to conjure them. The pendulum was kept raised, the light sparkling.&nbsp; <br><br>“Sister Pryor, look at the light behind your eyes.&nbsp; It's shining on a book.&nbsp; The book has a rich brown leather cover and the pages' edges are gilded in gold.&nbsp; It's book all about your life, Sister Pryor. There are many pages in it.&nbsp; Everything you can remember and almost all that you can't are written down inside of it. And there are pictures as well as words.&nbsp; All that you have done and seen in life and in sleep are in this book, Sister Pryor, and with the light shining on them you can see every word and picture clearly.”<br><br>“The book is opened to a page right now.&nbsp; It's filling up with words even as we speak.”&nbsp; Thomas flexed his fingers slightly to relieve them of the ache from holding the crystal up; with her eyes closed, he technically could set it down. Only if she opened her eyes again and that crystal wasn't there...<br><br>“What I want you to do, Sister, is to turn the book a few pages back, a few days back. Don't look at the pages between just yet, just find the page in your book that tells of just before you last left the abbey.”&nbsp; Thomas paused for a second, trying to remember what the weather report for the day before they found her had been. “It's night time.&nbsp; There's a heavy fog out over the water.&nbsp; You're inside the abbey, but then something made you leave it.”<br><br>“Read to me from that book, Sister Pryor.&nbsp; Tell me why you left the abbey and went out, and then tell me what happened. Remember!&nbsp; You're just reading a book is all.&nbsp; Nothing is actually happening, it's just a story being told is all.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>17-09-2015, 03:05:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"A... book," she spoke back, like a little pet bird reciting lines.&nbsp; "Read from the book."&nbsp; It was easier said than done.&nbsp; Though the hypnotists words had achieved their desired effect of acting as a beacon to guide her from the darkness of her mind, the sister still stumbled across pitfalls and shadows that snatched out at her ankles, all too ready to drag her into the bottomless depths.&nbsp; Pryor gnashed her teeth and dug her nails into her palm until she began to draw blood, but still she fought to focus on her guide's words and instructions.&nbsp; Thousands of images flashed before her eyes, a few of them the empty pages that were promised.&nbsp; She stretched out with her hand, a quill at her fingertips, and she began to write furiously.&nbsp; Her usually even penmanship was scratchy and angular as she struggled to put down the letters.<br><br>"...And as she looked up from Matthew 3:16, she admired the view from her small dormitory window across the bay.&nbsp; The lighthouse was shining upon the cliffs, ever so dutifully, to guide lost souls through the thick fog upon the sea.&nbsp; This night was strange though.&nbsp; As the pale light cut through the mists, Pryor spied the most curious sight.&nbsp; It was the outline of a man, arms spread like The Lord on his cross.&nbsp; It looked at if he were leaning dangerously towards the cliff's edge.&nbsp; But before the sister could see what the man had done, the lighthouse swung away, and there was only darkness.&nbsp; When the light returned to the point, the man had vanished.&nbsp; Pryor leapt from her desk and ran to tell the others when she remembered - she was late for Mass.&nbsp; Go to the sanctuary, and she would be punished, and the man would be dead before help arrived.&nbsp; Go alone, and he might stand a chance.&nbsp; She chose his life."<br><br>Every word was a struggle.&nbsp; Hands reached from behind her to snatch at the quill and still it from her.&nbsp; Jagged nails sliced at her cheeks.&nbsp; Harsh laughter rang in her ears.&nbsp; Still, Pryor kept writing.&nbsp; Her angel had come to save her; his light was warm upon her skin and soothed the aches that she bore in her heart.&nbsp; <br><br>"The streets were empty, save for the rolling fog, still the road was long.&nbsp; Sister Pryor was not a great runner, but she kept her mind on the man and pushed the fatigue from her body.&nbsp; When she arrived at the pier beneath the cliffs, there was no sign of the man.&nbsp; She called out to him or anyone nearby, but had no response.&nbsp; Just as she turned to leave the way she came, she spotted something strange upon the water's surface.&nbsp; Pryor knelt to the waters with her light, and there it was, a trail of... blood."<br><br>A pair of hands grasped at the sister's throat and she gasped, as if choked.&nbsp; Her hand tightened on the quill, causing the sharp tip to rip the page.&nbsp; Splotches of dark ink stained the paper, and as it seeped into the leaves, the color shifted, first to a deep brown, then a rich burgundy, and finally to a bright crimson that threatened to swallow the entire page.&nbsp; Pryor ripped it from the binding and wrote with all haste before more words were stolen from her.&nbsp; "She saw the poor man, his lifeless body cast upon the rocks, crabs already picking at his corpse.&nbsp; And the dead man smiled at her like a little boy who had just received a shiny bauble.&nbsp; And he smiled even though he would never know Heaven's embrace for his sins."&nbsp; Pryor was trembling where she lied.&nbsp; "And that's when the Devil came to claim his soul."<br><br>Just then, there came a sharp rapping at the window.&nbsp; The sister jerked at the noise, almost losing her focus, but she thought of her angel and forced herself to keep writing.&nbsp; "And Sister Pryor tried to ward off the demon with prayer, but she merely laughed."&nbsp; The rapping came again, stronger this time.&nbsp; "And she peered into Pryor's soul with her fiery eyes and saw only weakness."&nbsp; The rapping threatened to shatter the glass altogether.&nbsp; "And the devil laughed again and then... she sang."<br><br>Suddenly, a raven with feathers black as midnight burst through the window, flapping around the room and cawing loudly.&nbsp; Pryor screamed and flailed, writing haphazardly, scratching out half the words and misspelling the rest.&nbsp; "And her voice was terrible and beautiful and honey sweet and intoxicating and poison!"&nbsp; The young sister had never been a proficient nor confident singer, but her voice now was strong as she sang.<br><br>"<em>I will tell the secret to you,<br>to you, only to you.<br>Come closer. This song<br><br>is a cry for help: Help me!<br>Only you, only you can,<br>you are unique</em>"<br><br>Sister Pryor gave a shrill, deafening shriek as she reached out for her angel, only to find that his face had melted, giving way to a pair of yellow falcon's eyes and blood red lips lined with razor-sharp teeth, and his wings molted, leaving him with feathers blacker than the night.&nbsp; <em>There are some fates worse than death,</em> she whispered.<br><br>Pryor's eyes snapped open and wildly searched the room.&nbsp; The star that had been her shining light in the never-ending dark was gone, and she would never return, again.&nbsp; She sobbed as her gaze fell on Reverend Mother, whom she had failed.&nbsp; "I could not fight the Devil.&nbsp; I was found wanting, and now I am possessed!" she cried.&nbsp; Her hand fell away from Thomas' neck, but before it reached the mattress, it snapped out to the side, reaching for the one thing the sisters had failed to take from her.&nbsp; A long wooden cross sat on her bedside table.&nbsp; Before either Reverend Mother or the mesmerist could stop her, she screamed.&nbsp; "Forgive me!"&nbsp; With a wild thrust and the last of her strength, she drove the wood through her throat, warm blood gushing forth in a fountain.&nbsp; Her gown was soon stained with dark blotches, the last of the ink to underscore the end of her tale.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>19-09-2015, 05:37:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				A man of action would have risen at the first sign of trouble, grabbed the wrist of the maddened nun and wrested the crucifix from her grasp.&nbsp; Brophy could have done it. Thomas was sure of it in hindsight, that the big Irishman would have seen it coming and known just what to do without even thinking about it. Bartleby, too, he would have reacted with lightning speed.&nbsp; And Henry Meade?&nbsp; He would have known enough to make sure that the cross wasn't even in the room to begin with!&nbsp; <br><br>But Thomas had never been a man of action. It had never been his role.&nbsp; The academic was a man of quiet reasoning and reflective contemplation, a thoughtful man who gave careful consideration to any course of action before embarking upon it. He deliberated. Thomas never took more time than he felt was needed to make a sound decision, making his choices logically and without any doubt as to the rightness of his course. If proved wrong, he would admit it and adjust his views to adapt to the future. He was not, however, a man prepared for a nun willing to commit suicide in such a manner.<br><br>The blood splattered over his face and suit as he sat there stunned, hand still outstretched with the now doused pendulum. Sister Pryor's hand was now a phantom warmth upon his throat. Horrified, Thomas sat there blinking, frozen, as the crazed woman killed herself in an instant before either he or the Mother Superior could act.<br><br>Time passed.&nbsp; That was all that Thomas was aware of.&nbsp; His eyes closed and opened, and he found himself in a different room that looked similar to the rest of the abby. His blood splattered coat and vest were mercifully absent, leaving him unfashionable in shirt sleeves and distantly perturbed by the fact. Of the Reverend Mother there was no sign. Nor was there any sign of the body of poor Sister Pryor.&nbsp; The only evidence that the whole dismal affair had occurred was the recollection in his mind and some small drops of crimson-brown upon the cuffs of his white shirt, cuffs that he did his best to avoid. His eyes felt raw.&nbsp; So did his throat, as though he had been screaming and crying for hours on end before finding himself in the darkened cell.<br><br>“Are you feeling better?”<br><br>Thomas looked around to see an elderly nun sitting in a chair near to him. His mouth opened a little as if to say something, but no words would come. The whole of his body felt ill. That such a thing should happen and that he should have had to see it... been a part of it!&nbsp; While Thomas had not imagined any of it truly ending well, he had not been prepared for so destructive a conclusion to the life that was Sister Pryor.<br><br>“Did you love her, my son?”<br><br>The question started Thomas, and he looked quizzically at the elderly sister with her kindly wrinkled face. The blueness of her eyes was rather startling.<br><br>“I'm sorry?”<br><br>“Emma Winters,” the grandmotherly figure offered up. “You were calling her name. Begging her not to die. I'm afraid they had to drag you out of the cell where Sister Pryor was, you wouldn't leave her side. Did you lose someone dear to you in a similar manner, my son?”<br><br>Thomas said nothing at first, his gaze going to the floor. “Yes,” he finally admitted in a small voice. “I wasn't there at the time, but... I saw afterwards... yes. The woman I loved died in a most... unpleasant manner.”<br><br>Silence stretched between them. <br><br>The nun rose unsteadily and crossed the room. A cool palm was lowered upon his bowed head, a rosary dangling from the wrist. “I will pray for you, my son.”<br><br>Then the hand was gone, and she shuffled towards the door. “I will let the Reverend Mother know you are yourself again.&nbsp; Rest a while.”<br><br>Thomas did not raise his head to watch her go, his gaze instead remaining upon the floor but seeing some thousands of miles past it into nothing. Had he the energy, he would have wept again. Instead, hollow, he remained in the wooden chair and was lost to his own thoughts and memories until either someone arrived for him or he managed to compose himself. Another person dead, another mutliated body in a cold and uncaring grave, and he could do nothing about it.<br><br>“Christ,” he murmured despondently, “I can't save anyone, can I?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>21-09-2015, 18:21:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It never took terribly long for small news to spread quickly throughout the streets of Haverton. With something as gruesome as the frenzied suicide of a holy sister, the town was quickly ablaze with gossip.&nbsp; Here and there, snippets of speculation were whispered over a shop counter or a table.&nbsp; Reverend Mother herself said nothing, having immediately taken to the solitude of her own private prayers over this catastrophe.&nbsp; Despite having distrusted Mr. Chandler's method, she was forgiving and refused to denounce him or blame him for Pryor's death.&nbsp; <br><br>Some of the other sisters of Our Lady of Holy Hope were not nearly so understanding, particularly those who had bent an ear to Pryor's door and seen the aftermath of the unsuccessful session. <em>Mesmerist,</em> they scoffed.&nbsp; The Devil's work was all he had been doing, they hissed darkly to all who might listen.&nbsp; Why else would Sister Pryor have committed such a sinful deed with the symbol of their Lord, if not to desecrate their holy house with mockery?<br><br>If matters could not have been any worse, one of the local boys had been reported missing.&nbsp; Davy Phillips hadn't shown up to his job at the drugstore in almost a week now, and when friends had tried to pay a visit, they found his door unlocked and his quarters a mess, odd bits of love poetry scattered all about the room in Davy's hand.<br><br>"Odd," mused one friend, "I didn't even know that Davy had a girl."<br><br>With some sensationalist folk, suspicion immediately fell on the newcomer, despite the fact that Thomas hadn't even arrived in Haverton until days after Sister Pryor had been found wandering the docks or Davy's suspected initial first day of disappearance. But as a brilliant mathematician had once posited, man would ever be a credulous animal; in the absence of grounds in the absence of good grounds for belief, he will be satisfied with bad ones.<br><br>Regardless of the random mishmash of superstition and fantastical floating about, there were still matters of the physical realm to be dealt with.&nbsp; For the final affairs of Sister Pryor, the duty fell to office of the solicitor Mr. Theodore Henry Marsters.&nbsp; While Mr. Marsters was wholly perturbed by the entire situation, the graying wiry gent was of a generally logical disposition.&nbsp; Today, though, even the usually level-headed man had his hands full.<br><br>"Rather nasty business, a nun offing herself in such a bloody manner," gruff words marched from behind an almost walrus-like mustache.&nbsp; Its owner, James Denny, was a singular sort of man, particularly in Haverton.&nbsp; For years, he had insisted that he had been a captain in Her Royal Majesty, Queen Victoria's navy, forced to retire to the sleepy little village after a mutiny in the Orient left him with a crippled leg.&nbsp; Most everyone took him for a blustering braggart and a liar, but Ariadne, who was quietly tapping away on her steno in the corner, had taken a liking to the aging man.<br><br>"Yes, indeed," Mr. Marsters said absently as he rifled through a filing cabinet.&nbsp; "Made all the more complicated by her remaining estate."<br><br>"Estate?&nbsp; She was a sister!&nbsp; Gave up her possessions when she took her oath!"<br><br>"Indeed, not.&nbsp; Though very formally called Sister Pryor, she was only a novice. Miss Marianne Pryor had surrendered most of her possessions before her novitiate, but she was still collecting an inheritance in a small account before she was to take her vows.&nbsp; She had planned to donate her remaining fortune before she entered the Church, but now..."&nbsp; Mr. Marsters rubbed his temples.&nbsp; "Well, unfortunately, some relatives are now questioning if she was of a sound mind to make such monetary decisions."<br><br>Captain Denny guffawed.&nbsp; "The prodigal kin come to stake their claim, no doubt!&nbsp; My own nephews bled every last penny from their father on his deathbed.&nbsp; Sister Pryor had the right idea of it -- marrying God and all that.&nbsp; <em>Never have children.</em>&nbsp; Bloody blight.&nbsp; Though how she'd ever manage with out a coupling every once in awhile..."<br><br>Mr. Marsters peered over an ovular pair of gold spectacles, pointedly telling Captain Denny with his eyes to shut up, but the loud man either failed to notice or was ignoring the solicitor.&nbsp; He sighed, then turned to his faithful secretary.&nbsp; "Miss Williams.&nbsp; I do hate to have you put upon, but I have a task for you.&nbsp; I'll need a statement from the man who was with Sister Pryor at the time of death, a Mr. Thomas Chandler.&nbsp; Nothing terribly detailed, but he was the last person to be with the deceased.&nbsp; I would go myself, but I'm afraid I'll be rather tied up at the abbey."&nbsp; The solicitor jotted down a few items on a notepad and handed them to the woman.&nbsp; "Here.&nbsp; A few key questions and his current residence."<br><br>"A bit unchivalrous, sending a young lady into the lion's den!" Captain Denny protested.&nbsp; <br><br>Mr. Marsters opened his mouth to protest, but it was Ariadne who allayed his fears.&nbsp; "It is very kind of you you worry after me, Captain Denny," she began, an almost imperceptible lilt to her voice, "But I can assure you - Mr. Chandler means no harm."&nbsp; With that, Ariadne was off.&nbsp; <br><br>It was a fair distance to the Milligans' boarding house from the solicitor's office, but Ariadne didn't mind the walk.&nbsp; The air was lovely and cool, and in the distance, she could hear the waves crashing against the shoreline.&nbsp; Perhaps she would take a stroll along the sands tonight along with her customary visit to the point.&nbsp; Every night now since Thomas' arrival, she had been, half expecting Thomas to be there as well, but each night, she found herself alone.<br><br>When she arrived, the proprietors gave her a cursory look-over.&nbsp; Neither Mr. or Mrs. Milligan were were acquainted Ariadne, though they were more than familiar with her employer, who had more than once been called to settle a matter of an outstanding bill or likewise.&nbsp; Had Ariadne merely asked for Mr. Chandler, they might have found it more inappropriate for a woman to be calling on a gentleman, but when she stated her business, they let her pass with little more than a raise of the eyebrow.&nbsp; <br><br>"Mr. Chandler?" she called, gently knocking at the door.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>24-09-2015, 07:28:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Getting home from the abbey was something that just... happened. Thomas had a vague recollection of a constable of some sort asking him questions before being escorted back home into the care of Mr. and Mr. Milligan, both of whom were surprised and horrified when told the events that their guest had been witness to. Unlike some of their neighbors, they were true Christians and instantly felt no small amount of empathy for the young academic. He was ushered up into his rooms, his clothes taken for washing, and he was put to bed by his landlady who was surprisingly maternal about the whole thing. Thomas had little idea as to why.&nbsp; It was no more than the most minor of curiosities to him, the terrible death of Sister Pryor hanging still before his eyes. Worse, the nun's young face kept melding into that of Emma's and then back again to confuse him further.<br><br>That night, as he slept, Thomas dreamt of another coffin in the ground whose occupant begged for him to join the rest. He woke screaming this time.<br><br>“It's just like my father,” he overheard the elderly Mrs. Milligan tell the milkman in the morning. “He was an army surgeon in the War Between the States, you see. I wasn't more than a little girl, but I knew something bad had happened to him while he was gone.&nbsp; He saw things that God fearing Christians weren't supposed to see.&nbsp; Stuck in his head, you know, and every now and then he'd wake up in the middle of the night thinking he was right back there at Gettysburg. Poor Mr. Chandler, no wonder he's not right in the head after seeing that poor girl kill herself like they say!”<br><br>Thomas knew that if he let it, it would overcome his senses. He'd be right back where he had been after... Well, where he was when Brophy had found him. Useless. Shocked. Walking around in a fugue and doing worse than he ought to have. The only solution was to bury himself in his work.<br><br>The Milligans were happy enough to fetch him the daily Haverton newspaper, nothing more than a four page gazette, actually. The ones from the past few weeks along with the weeklies from the larger cities were stacked into small and neat piles about the writing desk that his room provided. Thomas dove into the research.&nbsp; He scanned headlines, obituaries, police notices, personal adverts, and (to take a break) did the Sunday crosswords using his fountain pen. The moleskin notebook he had brought was rapidly filling up with date, both relevant and useless. Half the time he wasn't even sure what it was he was writing! There was the full account of Sister's Pryor's words, of course, cross-referenced with the date she was found and other happenings of note both the day before, of, and after. <br><br>The song lyrics were written out meticulously on a page of their own.&nbsp; Thomas had felt they deserved their own entry, although if asked why he couldn't have said. There was some aspect to them that seemed so very, very familiar, as if he had just read them in passing a few days ago but couldn't recall in what book or text! A second, smaller notebook was laid out on the desk besides it.&nbsp; Bits and snatches of his own poetry were written in a neat but spidery Spencerian script, as though he had somehow tried to expand upon the mystical song's words to make better sense of them. <br><br>The police came by twice more to ask him questions and to have a look at his credentials. Not a one of them was out of order, and the investigators were reluctant to stay after receiving a stern scolding from Mrs. Milligan that they should know better than to disturb a gentle soul as Mr. Chandler, a soul who had had quite the shock. Still, Thomas was grateful for their visits. Their questions helped him better frame what had happened in his head. Better still, their inquires gave him insight into the local color and rumors that were already running rampant. Not so helpful was the investigating officer's comment that he'd be looking into the academic's background, just as a matter of routine.<br><br>Thomas could only hope there that the Order had taken great pains to cover their tracks well. No doubt the constables would come across his association with Emma and the other of the Lodge, but his alibi there was unquestionable. <br><br>That popular opinion associated him directly with the nun's death was unsurprising. Saddening, but unsurprising. It made him want to leave his little second floor room less and less, although some trips to the local library could not be avoided.&nbsp; The rest of the time, he stayed within the Milligan's house and concentrated on what he was supposed to be be doing so that he didn't have to stop and think about that young face so full of fear that death was a blessing of its own. When Miss Williams came knocking, he opened the door with a certain amount of reluctance that clashed wildly with the wide eyes of one who was desperately trying not to sleep.<br><br>“Yes?&nbsp; Oh!&nbsp; Yes, Miss Williams, forgive me, I...”&nbsp; Thomas lost track of what he was saying. His olive tweed suit had been deemed too ruined for anything but the dustbin, leaving him with a rumpled suit of charcoal wool that looked as though it should have followed its brother into the trash. The jacket was tossed over the desk chair, along with a new bowtie from the local general store. The trousers and waistcoat were wrinkled as though they had been slept in, and that the quality of sleep thereof had been less than ideal. Pale and sunken eyed, his hair tousled, Thomas moved about the room with a nervous energy born of desperation. He was a man both haunted and driven.<br><br>“I wasn't expecting company,” he admitted lamely.&nbsp; “I fear my... working vacation has become more work than vacation. But I am glad to see you!”<br><br>The last came out in a jittery cadence as if he thought she might take offense at having been relegated to secondary consideration. Nevermind that he had dismissed any chance of actually engaging her in conversation again after her near dismissal of him the other night. Thomas' wits were somewhat fragile after his experience; he could not imagine what might have brought the lovely woman to come see him.<br><br>“Please!&nbsp; Sit! I'll move my coat for you, is there anything I might get you?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>24-09-2015, 16:13:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				If Ariadne was put off by the rather haphazard state of Mr. Chandler's quarters, she made no show of it.&nbsp; She quietly thanked her gracious host and took a seat, as if oblivious to the wild sleepless look about him.&nbsp; After all, why should she be so perturbed?&nbsp; She was merely a solicitor's assistant, here on a job.&nbsp; The flawless mask of Ariadne Williams had no real connections to this scholar, and thus had no cause for concern.<br><br>The true creature residing within Ariadne, on the other hand, took some issue with that line of thinking.&nbsp; Behind her dispassionate amber eyes, she observed the restless gentleman.&nbsp; He had bitten off far more than he could chew by coming to Haverton, and now he suffered for it.&nbsp; In a way, Ariadne felt some pity for him.&nbsp; Surely, the death of one nun could not have sent him to the brink of madness, staring into the bottomless crevasse and wondering if he himself should jump.&nbsp; Why hadn't she caught the scent of it before?&nbsp; Death kept a heavy hand on his shoulder, and quite intimately, as well.&nbsp; Some details, the crones had apparently seen fit to omit, much to the young woman's displeasure.&nbsp; Well, no matter.&nbsp; A desperate man was one more easily given to suggestion.<br><br>"I'm sorry that your holiday has not been as restful as you might have hoped, and I am more sorry that I unfortunately am here on unpleasant business.&nbsp; On behalf of Mr. Marsters, there are some things I must ask you concerning the last moments of Sister Pryor's life."&nbsp; Her tone dropped to a whisper.&nbsp; If she spoke too loudly and too suddenly, she might shatter this already fragile soul.&nbsp; "Please, if you can, describe to me the state in which you found the novice - her mental disposition, if you will.&nbsp; Was there anything to suggest that this might have been the culmination of a chronic ailment?&nbsp; Perhaps the stress of her novitiate?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>27-09-2015, 02:01:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				A mute nod of understanding was Thomas's only reply at first. She had mentioned the solicitor's office when they had first met, so it should have come as no surprise to him that she had arrived on such business. Some part of him was crestfallen that it was for no other reason. It was drowned out to his conscious mind by his sorrows and the horror that still floated in front of his mind's eye. Gingerly, he set himself down on the very edge of the mattress as though worried if he were too far upon it, he might give in to sleep.&nbsp; Sleep was the thing he needed most and wanted least.&nbsp; As a distraction, he clung to Miss Williams' question.&nbsp; Thomas stared at the circular pattern of the colonial rug but saw far past it into his own thoughts. A silence filled the room, stretching between them as he reflected on her line of inquiry. A few times he paused to rub at his face and eyes with both hands.<br><br>“No,” he finally admitted. The scholar's voice was faint but sure. “I have thought on that very question over and over again, Miss Williams. Please bear in mind that I am no expert in psychologic matters, but while she was under hypnosis I did not get the impression of stress before the incident occurred. She spoke of making a choice between delaying and trying to save a man's life, but in the way that she related it she was not overly torn. Sister Pryor it would appear came to a rapid decision. It was not one that she deliberated or hesitated over for long. And she described herself as running.”&nbsp; <br><br>Thomas closed his eyes and summoned up her words from memory. “'She kept her mind on the man and pushed the fatigue from her body.'&nbsp; This tells me that up until that point, she was lucid and making conscious, informed, <em>rational </em>decisions.”&nbsp; His eyes opened again to look bleakly at the floor once more.&nbsp; “No, I do not think she was afflicted at that point. If anything, I believe it would have been the sight of the body she described that unhinged her. A man, smiling like a child, dead.&nbsp; A man with a boyish face, I think. I do not know how sheltered the sister's life has been, but that sort of shock has been known to... cause a sort of shock.&nbsp; She believed herself wanting, damned.”<br><br>He smiled grimly, faintly. “Perhaps she found herself wanting because she could not save him... and the guilt overwhelmed her.” Thomas risked a rueful glance at the beautiful woman sitting so dispassionately in the desk chair, and he candidly admitted his own prejudices by saying,&nbsp; “Please bear in mind that this is all merely speculation on my part brought on by my personal experiences.”<br><br>Rising, he slowly began to pace along the narrow lane between the bed and the dresser. “Now the curious part, Miss Williams, the truly curious part, is that she described the Devil as female.&nbsp; Sister Pryor quite definitely said 'she' and 'her'. One might ascribe a feminine aspect to some demon or spirit, but to call the Devil a woman? Unusual. Highly, highly unusual. And singing!&nbsp; She was singing.&nbsp; In folklore throughout history, Satan is not one overly given to bursting out into song as if part of a music hall act.”<br><br>He paused abruptly, stopping his train of thought as much as his motion. <br><br>“Fiddle playing, yes. Definitely. But singing?&nbsp; No.&nbsp; Not as such. And the song, it was... it more Classical Greek in form and metre than Coptic or Latin or Aramaic... but the words were in English. Or the <em>meaning</em> was in English.&nbsp; What would the actual words be, I wonder?”<br><br>Thomas ran both sets of fingers through his hair again, a mania winding up inside of him again as he paced faster and faster. Vaguely he was aware that he was going off on tangents away from her initial question, but he was finding it impossible to stop as his brain continued to hash and rehash details in his head lest is shut down and he succumb to his exhaustion. No, he couldn't sleep.&nbsp; She might think him mad, no doubt the rest of the town might by now, but sleep only held nightmares that Thomas did not want to deal with.&nbsp; Again.&nbsp; And Miss Williams was the first willing audience that he other than the police, so she received the full brunt of his briliance both cannonballing through his head to help vocalize and focus his random thoughts and threatening to derail itself at the same time.<br><br>“Then there's the passage that she was reading.”&nbsp; His thoughts and voice were going faster and faster now. The chapter and verse that Sister Pryor had cited didn't seem to have any direction connection to the events, but there had been something that stuck in his mind that might be relevant in hindsight. “Matthew 3:16.&nbsp; Jesus came<em> up </em>from the water whereas the man she claims she saw fell <em>down</em> into it. The Spirit of God against the presence of the Devil. Probably nothing, no real comparison between book and event unless there was a raven to the dove, then! Then it might... might it hold up under scrutiny! Ha!”<br><br>Stopping again, he took a breath. His eyes were wild enough as they flickered left and right as though seeking out revelations and answers that might be hiding just beyond his peripheral view. But his voice was calmer, quieter when he spoke again, almost a whisper. “A man disappears. A youngish man with a boyish face. One Mister David Phillips, it was in the paper. All of his earthly possessions are left behind. About the same time as he is believed to have vanished, a nun spies a man atop a cliff and finds his body among the rocks before going mad. The rocks were visible, which means it had to be at low tide, any remains would be washed to sea quickly. This is a small town. Does no one think the two items related?&nbsp; Why?&nbsp; Why is that, Miss Williams? Are disappearances all that common in this town?”<br><br>Thomas looked helplessly down at the palms of his empty hands. “I had her,” he admitted sorrowfully. “No doubt you think me mad myself now, Miss Williams, but I had her. For the briefest of moments I thought I could save her... bring her back to herself... I thought she would live... and then she just.... slipped through my fingers. Gone.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>28-09-2015, 03:27:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				It has difficult, at best, for Ariadne to remain seated with such refinement as she witnessed the rapid downward spiral of this brilliant academic. Any other rational human would have ascribed insanity to his present erratic behavior, but she knew better.&nbsp; It was almost delightful to watch him try to piece together her little puzzle.&nbsp; He was coming so close, dancing upon the edges of the solution, and yet somehow still looking in the completely opposite direction.&nbsp; To remain so aloof while he toiled so faithfully nearly made her want to cry.&nbsp; She was far from a dispassionate creature by nature; nay, she was quite the opposite.&nbsp; A small ember was beginning to burn in a very private part of her, but it was always duty before pleasure, much to her disappointment.&nbsp; <br><br>Had Professor Moriarty ever felt such a stirring in his loins for Sherlock Holmes?<br><br>Truth be told, she had already been allowing her bias to interfere too much with this business as it was.&nbsp; He was dangerously close to stumbling upon the truth before he was meant to, but she was so eager to... No.&nbsp; No, she had a responsibility to her flock.&nbsp; If Thomas Chandler so much as tripped over one more hint, he would be in the middle of it, the clan would be in grave danger, and it would be all her fault.&nbsp; There was a very fine line in all of this.&nbsp; To drive him to complete madness would ruin the game entirely and set everything back to square one.&nbsp; Aid him too much, and he wouldn't fall far enough into the web.&nbsp; No, this was not a hardy man.&nbsp; If she frightened him so suddenly with the reality of things, he was like to scurry back to the safety of his books and the sturdy four walls of his library.&nbsp; No, she had to give him a thread - something thin enough that he would not lose his way, but not substantial enough that he would tug and immediately find the other end.&nbsp; She had to pull him back just enough...<br><br>"Are you speaking of Sister Pryor, or of another?"<br><br>A dangerous gamble.&nbsp; She had heard the longing in his heart for another, a soul long gone for which he assumed the guilt.&nbsp; That might well drive him even further into anguish.&nbsp; She had to snap back, now.&nbsp; <br><br>"I'm sorry," she quickly added with a soft blush as she turned her head to the side.&nbsp; "Please, forgive my impropriety.&nbsp; It's just that you mentioned personal experience and speak with such remorse over a stranger, and you reminded me of..."&nbsp; Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red.&nbsp; <br><br>She took a deep breath, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through slightly puckered lips that she had rouged that morning before leaving Mr. Marster's office.&nbsp; "The world is a very strange place, Mr. Chandler.&nbsp; There are those who would insist otherwise, telling us to bow our heads in prayer in order to be saved, when all the while, perhaps it is merely to avert our eyes from things we cannot hope to understand."&nbsp; Her lip quivered slightly, as if it were a trial for her to continue in this manner.&nbsp; "Was the poor sister's Devil merely the manifestations of her own demons, or was it something else?&nbsp; For the sisterhood to shut her away in shame like that, as if she were some sort of monster.&nbsp; Why?&nbsp; What crime had she committed?&nbsp; Why was there no help for her until..."&nbsp; She glanced shyly out of the corner of her eyes at him.&nbsp; "Until you?"<br><br>Facing full forward, now, she clasped her hands in her lap, like a contrite girl in confession.&nbsp; "You must understand, I bear no ill-will toward the people of Haverton, but they are steeped in superstition here.&nbsp; No one would touch the poor woman."&nbsp; Ariadne rose from her seat and took a tentative step towards Thomas.&nbsp; "I may speak out of turn, but I do admire you so much for going to her.&nbsp; To want to save her... No, I do not think that you are mad."&nbsp; &nbsp;She took another step forward, and lifted her hands, as if to hold his in comfort, but just as her palms were in mere inches of his, she suddenly remembered herself and stepped back.<br><br>"I must beg your pardon again.&nbsp; It must be quite unseemly for me to talk so."&nbsp; Her words came out in an embarrassed rush as she whipped around to face the desk and her personal effects.&nbsp; She rifled through her notebook, nearly dropping it and knocking over stacks of journals and copies of weeklies.&nbsp; "I... perhaps we had best return to the interview.&nbsp; Before or after you left the abbey, did any of the other sisters suggest that Sister Pryor had been acting unusually that evening?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>04-10-2015, 01:07:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There was no change in expression as she boldly inquired into his past. Thomas found himself unable to comment. Yes, in all likelihood there was a connection for him between recent events and those more removed from this time and place; he could not in all good conscience deny it. Now was not the time and place, however. He needed to focus on the here and now of the situation, and though he was exhausted to the point of mania, the scholar knew better than to let woeful regrets pull him backwards.<br><br>It was why he was avoiding sleep, after all.<br><br>But her gestures and mannerisms were not missed. Not one bit of that blush or the tone of her voice escaped him as his driven-wide eyes caught everything peripherally while his ears brought him whisperings of the emotions behind her tones.&nbsp; Thomas was unable to lose that stricken visage or reply to her words, but his fingers did flex and then ball into fierce fists before relaxing as though to let sand run through between the digits. He almost smiled at Miss Williams's statement that the world was a strange place. Oh, but if she only knew how right she was! Intelligent and perceptive, she would have made quite the addition to the Order! Still, better that she should live a long if questioning life than to learn some truths, he felt.<br><br>Thomas saw her hands come towards him, and his eyes shifted behind his spectacles just enough to focus upon them as they neared his own. He could almost feel the warmth radiating from her palms to his. It was no large feat of the imagination to picture how those hands with their long fingernails would feel along the tender flesh of his palms, the only callouses upon them being those from long hours of writing. Just a connection, a single touch of connection to another living being. That's all it would take, he felt, to either shatter into pieces or find some anchor in this world of sorrow. <em>How very much I would like to hold her hands</em>, he thought to himself sadly.<br><br>Then she was gone, whirled away in a moment of embarrassment. Or perhaps it was regret?&nbsp; Thomas was never good at reading such things. Perhaps if he had spent more time in his youth canoodling instead of reading, he might have had a better inkling. As it was?&nbsp; He merely accepted that it was not to be, just as a great many other things in this earthly world were not meant to be.<br><br>He watched her fumble, knocking over his carefully arranged stacks. He did not sigh or reassure her or curse her. There was little point in it, he felt, and so Thomas merely let his hands fall to his sides and smiled softly. Back to business it was then. That was probably for the best.<br><br>A deep breath as he collected himself, gathering his thoughts once more before speaking. “No,” he advised quietly. “Not that I am aware of, Miss Williams. A Sister Catherine met me at the door when I arrived, and while her attitude towards me was... disapproving... she was civil and said nothing of Sister Pryor. The Mother Superior was of mixed emotions over my arrival but gave no indication as to whether or not the other nuns had any misgivings about the poor soul.”&nbsp; A fleeting memory buzzed by, causing him to frown. “There was another sister that I encountered, after the fact. An old woman with startling blue eyes was sitting with me when I... when I came to my senses. She never gave me her name, though, nor did she say anything about Sister Pryor, just that she would... pray for me.”<br><br>Thomas gave a brittle laugh and ran his hands through his hair as he slowly started to pace again. “Prayer. I have seen the value of prayer, Miss Williams. A great hope. A great lie. But sometimes the lies are comforting ones.”<br><br>He stopped before his little window, dropping his hands to lean against the sill and stare out into street. While his gaze was in that direction, his attention was focused inward. “What was her crime, you ask?” The scholar shook his head sadly. “She was strong; Sister Pryor saw a man she might save and took a chance to save a life whereas many of them are not doubt now questioning there own faith and courage. Envy is a powerful thing. And she was weak. She succumbed to madness... or to the Devil... and reminded them all of how frail the mortal mind and faith can be. Who, especially those among the religious, wants to be reminded of that in such an evident and brutal manner?”<br><br>Thomas sat back upon the bed, the direction of his eyes still towards the window and the sky beyond it. “Most of all? She was human. Sometimes people can forget what both a terrible and beautiful thing that is to be.”<br><br>Glancing up toward where Miss Williams sat, he smiled apologetically. “Have you read much Nietzche, Miss Williams?&nbsp; He passed away just a year ago, although I have heard his sister has been very busy corrupting his writings to fit her own petty view of the world.&nbsp; That aside, he once wrote, 'Whomever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.'”&nbsp; Thomas gave another strangled chuckle. “I think that's what happened to the sisters. They gazed into the abyss that was Sister Pryor's fate and they could not withstand having it gaze back at them. So they hid it... and her... away.”<br><br>A wash of weariness overcame him, and Thomas could not help but close his eyes. Just for a moment.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>08-10-2015, 14:53:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There was a chink in his armor.&nbsp; It was but a hairline, but it rested right over his heart.&nbsp; She could send a dozen hooks to ensnare it, but none would catch.&nbsp; Perhaps she was going about this the wrong way, though.&nbsp; She had thought to play the coy little doe, batting long, pretty eyelashes and hiding away tart blushes, but he was a scholar - an innocent, brilliant, and obtuse school boy, and a scholar must needs have something to study.&nbsp; Not a hypothesis, but a solid theory.&nbsp; <br><br>Her eyes traveled all over him, noting every gesture, every angle of his frame and posture.&nbsp; She read his sighs and pauses, and then, as he sat back upon his bed and closed his eyes, the woman found the opening.&nbsp; <br><br>Ariadne sucked in a quick breath, air whistling quietly through her teeth, and in a calm voice, she spoke.<br><br><em>"'Twas grief enough to think mankind<br>All hollow servile insincere -<br>But worse to trust to my own mind<br>And find the same corruption there."</em><br><br>And in the last half-breath, barely even the last letter uttered, Ariadne sang.&nbsp; <br><br>It was only a single note; one could hardly even count it as a true song, but today's singers were not fit to be counted among the masters nor even the amateurs of her kind.&nbsp; Ariadne herself was neither master nor novice, but all the same, she filled the note with sorrow, anguish, and regret, but above all else, longing.<br><br>In a frenzied step, she strode to the small window, fiddled with the latch, and threw open the pane. A strong breeze from off the harbor burst into the room, tousling her hair and blowing several papers from the desk.&nbsp; The chill mixed with sunlight washed over her face, and she couldn't help but feel invigorated.&nbsp; Her kind was not meant to sit pretty and live such a sterile life of propriety and decorum.&nbsp; It was suffocating her, and she had no more patience to spare.<br><br>Ariadne turned to face Thomas, a childish grin dancing upon her lips.&nbsp; "I have half a mind to go mad, I think.&nbsp; If sanity should only be a mask to hide behind, then why pretend?"&nbsp; She stretched out a hand.&nbsp; "Why not look into the abyss, perhaps ask it a few questions?&nbsp; Will you join me?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>08-10-2015, 21:07:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He almost fell asleep.&nbsp; Scandalous and rude as it would have been to fall asleep with a lady in the same room as him, Thomas would not have been able to help it. Some part of him quailed as it realized the blackness was settling in around his mind, befogging it and threatening to drag his soul back into the nightmares that were all too real without ever being real enough for him. Miss Williams would have observed the young man topple like a falling tree onto his side right in front of her. What would be said of him then, he wondered woozily. The thought only lasted an instant but it was there. How much more damaged would his reputation be in this town if he succumbed at last to the physical rest his body required? When it came to the lady herself, would it matter at all?! Thomas thought she had displayed a... glimmer of interest in him... a sympathy at best... and yet there remained some distance between them! From one moment to the next, he honestly could not tell what her judgment upon him might be! Nor was this even in regards to being a man. What Miss Williams might think of him as a person was the true mystery.<br><br>The poem's lines wormed their way into his ear, abetted by her lovely voice. The faintest of smiles appeared on Thomas's lips. He'd always liked Emily Bronte, more so than her sisters. <br><br>But that final note struck at his senses. Thomas didn't even comprehend it as a note, exactly, more of a final exclamation at the very end of the line as though to punctuate it with the emotions that lay behind both the poet and the speaker. Those emotions echoed about in the hollow pit of his stomach and in the void where his heart's love had been. Thomas could hear them reverberate in harmony with his feelings. He knew that loss, that sorrow. The regret within him called out to the regret in her, and if ever there was longing then they shared it. Miss Williams understood, perhaps, better than she realized what lay at the core of his grief.<br><br>The sound of that note forced Thomas's eyelids to pop open in surprise, leaving him to stare first blankly at the wall and then to follow her rapid movement towards the window. Blinking in surprise, he was stunned. As Miss Williams spoke of madness and the abyss, the scholar could only sit there in shock and not a little wonder.<br><br>Most men of time and background would have been appalled at Miss Williams sudden change in behavior. They might have stammered on in confusion or protested in indignation at her odd and unseemly, suggesting presumptuously that she might wish to retire and rest.&nbsp; They might assume that this fair creature of the so-called weaker sex was having what might politely be referred to as a bout of hysteria.&nbsp; And were Thomas more like them, he might have said as such.<br><br>But he was only similar to such men on the surface. No less a product of his time than they, Thomas had still retained what the Order looked in its recruits: a sense of adventure and an open mind. Each lodge had its resident skeptics to keep one foot upon the ground, of course, but that had not be Thomas's role. Much of the former was now buried, mired under layers of regret and loss, but there was something about Miss Williams words that called to it.<br><br>Shakily, Thomas stood as his eyes lingered on that outstretched hand. He had been wondering just seconds ago how her palm might feel against his, and now there was the offering of it! While his balance was off and his legs quaking from exhaustion, there was not the least bit of tremor or hesitation as he slid his hand into her and grasped it firmly. He could smell her perfume clearly now. It was a heady and intoxicating scent, and Thomas realized that just as much as he wished to hold her hand, he yearned to her more of her voice.<br><br>“You had asked...” Thomas stalled, the hoarse whisper pausing as he sought to gather his thoughts. His eyes stared at their joined hands, his fingers flexing around hers as though testing the surety of reality itself. “You had asked if there had been another...”<br><br>Thomas nodded slowly to confirm her suspicions as well as to acknowledge it to himself, eyes still upon their joined hands. “There was.&nbsp; I loved her. She died. And there was... nothing I could do to save her.”<br><br>His face rose then to look into her golden yellow eyes, his face pale but calm. “The sad part is, Miss Williams?&nbsp; She didn't love me.”<br><br>And that was all there was to say about that for now.<br><br>Thomas turned his head to look out the window, and taking a deep breath he squared his shoulders.&nbsp; He enjoyed the way the sea breeze blew her hair about, filling the room further with both the smells of the ocean and the fragrance of her hair.<br><br>“I have looked into the abyss many times, Miss Williams. More times than I care to count. So, yes. Let us take a gander.”&nbsp; A wry sense of humor made him smirk. “Often as the abyss and I have crossed paths, I never learned what<em> it</em> thought of <em>me</em>...”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>09-10-2015, 02:14:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				If she had had talons, they would have snapped shut, sunk into his soft, pink flesh, and held him there forever.&nbsp; He was hers.<br><br><em>Not yet,</em> a voice whispered in the back of her mind.<br><br>No, that was true.&nbsp; She had finally managed to lure him out of his shell, perhaps pique his interest a bit, but she hadn't fully ensnared him yet.&nbsp; It would take a great deal more than that, but she could at least revel a little in this first victory.&nbsp; Unsurprisingly, the revelation of a previous love did nothing to jar Ariadne.&nbsp; Men were wont to fall in love, and there was nothing to be gained by jealousy.&nbsp; After all, boys who knew nothing of love were of no use to her; they were practically immune to her.&nbsp; Her prey needed to have tasted it in order to appreciate the sweetness of what was she had to offer.&nbsp; No, it was not that, but the truth behind the sorry.&nbsp; <em>She did not love him.</em>&nbsp; There.&nbsp; That had been the longing she had felt lurking within him, the emptiness in his heart that kept him chained to his past.&nbsp; That chain had not yet been broken, but the links were weakening.<br><br>His hand was warm in hers.&nbsp; Looking at him with a sympathetic smile, she squeezed it once, as if to give him strength.<br><br>"Come!" she said suddenly, giving in completely to this new aspect of her.&nbsp; The fine, meek Miss Williams had vanished, and in her place now stood a wild woman with windswept locks and bright eyes.&nbsp; She half-pulled him to the desk, quickly tossing her things into her bag as she collected her remaining things.&nbsp; "This sojourn into darkness must be celebrated, and I know the perfect place to begin.&nbsp; I believe I have a torch among my things.&nbsp; Bring a lantern if you have a mind to, but sometimes there is more to be gained by fumbling in the darkness."<br><br>Just as she snatched up her hat and made for the door, a thought struck her, and her newfound smile waned a little.&nbsp; Ariadne turned to look at Thomas, her eyes like two golden question marks.&nbsp; Her grip on his hand loosened.&nbsp; There was the chance that she had taken too great a risk this time, and that her manner was too frivolous for one of her station - and his.&nbsp; If she had misread him, it was over, and to her surprise, this worried her.&nbsp; Not because of her duties, but because... of some curiosity or other.&nbsp; "Will... will you come with me?" she asked, her voice quiet again.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>11-10-2015, 03:24:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Miss Williams had found his weakness well enough. Emma Winters had not been a woman of complacence. She had been a working woman, one who had put her hand to a number of trades over her short years, and no doubt some of those professions were less than legal or morale. Thomas had never cared. There had been something wild about Emma that drew him to her. She had been not merely living but <strong><em>alive.</em></strong> Yes, she had also been coarse to the point of crudeness. No, she hadn't been the greatest of beauties. And yet for all that Thomas knew she did not love him but Henry Meade, he could not help but to have been drawn to her! What kind of life they might have lived together would never be known. It even taxed his imagination now, if he were honest with himself. Only she was a vulgar woman to be woo'd with lewd behavior and licentious behavior, a wanton. <br><br>Miss Williams, however, was intelligent as well as beautiful. She had already shown the scholar too much for him to think otherwise. And she was cultured. Those were all qualities that Emma had lacked. Yet that same fire, that same wild desire for freedom lay within her! Now it was fully exposed as she eagerly half-dragged him towards the door in eager anticipation of something new and different. Thomas could scarce comprehend the immediate change in her. Nor did he care. With wide-eyed wonder, he followed after willingly with an expression upon his face that was both bemused and awed.<br><br>When she stopped and turned to him, asking again if he would commit to this unknown venture? Then and only then he did pause.<br><br>Thomas looked about the tiny room that he was renting from the kindly Milligans as though seeing it for the first time. It was a nice enough room. The bed was soft and the sheets clean. It smelled of washed linens and wood polish, a hint of cedar and rosemary lingering from the closet to keep moths and silverfish at bay. And he had to admit, the view from the window was nice enough. <br><br>But it wasn't a sanctuary. It wasn't what he needed. At home, in his store, he could have taken refuge in his books and tomes until he lost himself in history and fiction, healing himself vicariously through their adventures until he was sound enough in spirit to venture forth again. It was a poor sort of restoration, but it had gotten him through before. Here, though?&nbsp; In a stranger's house in a town where already the worst was being thought of him, boarding in a chamber that was pleasant but utilitarian? If he stayed there, he would continue to brood. It would feedback upon him, eating him from the inside out until there was nothing useful left that he could accomplish. It was a cell, is what it was. He had locked himself away in punishment for his perceived failures, and with Miss Williams throwing open the window and showing him freedom, Thomas again learned to crave both liberty and hope.<br><br>With careful but deliberate movements, he plucked his jacket from where it had lain crumpled. The same fingertips snagged the brim of his derby, and with an impish swagger he tossed them over his shoulder so that both hung down his back. Other than coat and hat, he made no motion to gather anything else. Not the lantern in the corner not his pipe and not even the sawed-off shotgun he had packed away in his bags that Brophy had insisted he take with him. It was reckless and foolish. But if there was anything that Thomas needed right then, reckless and foolish would do.<br><br>“Miss Williams?” came his reply finally in a quiet but sure voice. Thomas carefully chose the words he spoke so that it would leave no room for misunderstanding. The hand that she held squeezed hers in turn, accepting the strength given and returning reassurances as to the veracity of what followed out of his mouth. His gaze came up to her eyes, his own eyes of green and grey and gold looking into hers with unfeigned honesty. There was no need to charm and enchant him. Why bother when he was willing to fall in love with her all on his own?&nbsp; <br><br>“I can think of no place... and no one... I would rather be with right now than you.”&nbsp; Then came that boyish smile, a smile just for her, one that Emma Winters had never even dreamed might fit onto his thin, scholarly face. <br><br>“Lead on,” he urged quietly in an intimate whisper.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>13-10-2015, 00:05:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				His innocence was so touching that it nearly overwhelmed her.<br>&nbsp;<br>Faith renewed and Thomas' assurances freely given, Ariadne's smile widened - not in the sultry red-lipped pout that she had used to lure Davy Phillips to his death, but in a toothy grin worn by children out to discover unchartered lands and treasures lost to the ages.&nbsp;<br>&nbsp;<br>Wordless, she led her new companion from the room, the sanctuary he had come to know in his time in Haverton.&nbsp; Her newfound familiarity with its inhabitant was sure to shock the Milligans at their little corner at the front of the house, but Ariadne paid no mind.&nbsp; She slipped her arm through his, keeping a passable distance so as not to dance on the sensitivities of any who might find such behavior unseemly, but stayed close enough to him so as to leave no question that, yes, a claim had been made.<br>&nbsp;<br>The day was still relatively young as the pair exited onto the cobblestone streets, all the better for their travels to come.&nbsp; "I hope you're not averse to a healthy walk, Mr. Chandler," she warned, "We'll be staying in Haverton limits, of course, but even so, it's a fair distance to my secret."&nbsp; Her eyes twinkled mischeivously with the last word.&nbsp; Did anymore need to be said?&nbsp; This prim and proper lady was taking the scholar somewhere special, somewhere she had never shared with another soul on this earth.<br>&nbsp;<br>Truthfully, somewhere very deep down, the woman was asking herself what the meaning of this sudden outburst was.&nbsp; Men were to be toyed with.&nbsp; Intrigued.&nbsp; Reeled in like the morning catch and flayed while they still breathed.&nbsp; They were certainly not to be carted around like bosom buddies.&nbsp; Yet, Ariadne was a creature of whim, and Thomas Chandler was an altogether unexpected diversion to be enjoyed.&nbsp;<br>&nbsp;<br>They walked straight through town, not stopping even as they reached the fishing port where poor Sister Pryor had first been discovered.&nbsp; Ariadne led Thomas down to the edge of the coast where sand met rock face in a steep enclave of sorts.&nbsp; "If we are lucky... ah, yes!&nbsp; There, just beyond that bend.&nbsp; If we had missed low tide, this trip may have been... a bit more perilous, though not impossible.&nbsp; But fortune smiles upon us, and there is a path that we can walk along without too much fear of soaking our garments."<br>&nbsp;<br>Ariadne went first, stepping carefully along a narrow walkway that wound along the curve of the cliffside, almost disappearing altogether, and would have led to a great nothingness to the untrained eye.&nbsp; However, if one turned one's head at just the right angle, they would find an ever-ascending ledge that seemed to have been carved out by the sea itself.&nbsp; "I found this place in my youth, during a visit to my great aunt.&nbsp; I noticed that a seagull seemed to have&nbsp;flown straight&nbsp;into the rockface, but had not smashed so terribly.&nbsp; It had altogether vanished," she explained as she scaled the path, every so often turning back to check that Thomas had not slipped or fallen behind.&nbsp; She offered a hand as they reached the steps leading into the cliff itself.<br>&nbsp;<br>The path led to a narrow slit in the cliff face, just wide enough to pass an average sized person.&nbsp; Though it was still bright outside, the cavern mouth was veiled by dark shadows cast by an overhang.&nbsp;<br>&nbsp;<br>"We shan't have to worry about gulls this time of year, I expect. They'll nest in warmer climates. Other creatures, though..." She grinned. "Well. Perhaps that's part of experience.&nbsp; Dare to tread on?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>15-10-2015, 05:06:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“It would be poor enough sport if we turned back now, I think!”<br><br>Thomas was exhausted. How long can a man go without sleep and remain fully functional either physically or mentally? Since the incident with Sister Pryor, he had not slept at all save for a few unintended snatches that were completely unintentional and thankfully short-lived. Miss Williams's sudden flight of fancy, however, was giving him a bright if slightly manic second wind! The experience of her leading him from the small room and out into the streets bordered on the surreal but retained a definite quality of wonder and awe... and not some little bit of mischief. He was supposed to be compiling his report for the Order. He should have been deciding the best course of action to take based on what he knew. Like it or not, Thomas knew he eventually had to get some sleep! But all of that was nothing compared to the notion of following Miss Williams out into the town and beyond in search of adventure!<br><br>That was one of the unspoken tenants of the Order, after all. To seek out the unknown.&nbsp; Viewed that way, he was scarcely playing hooky.&nbsp; But, oh!&nbsp; Didn't it just feel so wonderful to play the truant schoolboy traipsing about with an impish friend beyond the sight of stern faced teachers!&nbsp; While the quick-stepped pace through Haverton had not been overly scandalous, Thomas liked to believe those that were staring at them as they passed were staring in envy. Envy for the woman who had locked elbows with him and envy for the youthful mirth that must have been practically radiating from them both.&nbsp; Getting out of his rented room had been the best course of action without a doubt. It was an escape, and he gladly took it.<br><br>Miss Williams was quite the nimble woman, too!&nbsp; Once upon the beachhead, she seemed to flit from one spot to another without the least bit of effort!&nbsp; Thomas would scarcely look down at his feet to make sure of where he was putting them, and when he looked up again Miss Williams would be some yards ahead waiting patiently with a smile. However she moved so fast was beyond his comprehension. Instead of feeling bad for holding her up? Thomas would grin and scramble all the more after her as though they were playing a game of tag. The urge to grab her from behind when they reached the passageway into the rock was hard to exist!<br><br>Now they stood before it, and Thomas grinned wider. The darkness held no fear for him. Nor did tight spaces bother him in the least. The researcher's fears tended to be far more esoteric, the terrors of the mind being far more frightening than anything physical. <br><br>Except for heights, of course. High places and long drops were not among his more favored things in the world, which was why when Miss Williams had first come upon him, Thomas had been a few yards <em>away</em> from the cliff's edge.<br><br>“Did Odysseus shy away from Polyphemus's lair?” he whispered excitedly to her after a moment of contemplating the darkness.&nbsp; There was a wide smile on his face as he stood besides the dark haired beauty. “Or Beowulf from the dragon's lair? Think how poor a tale tragic Orpheus would have had if he did not venture into the darkness after Eurydice!”<br><br>Thomas took two steps past her, deeper into the cave, his voice filled with childhood wonder. “Pirates might have hidden their treasure here once. Blackbeard or Henry Morgan. Or perhaps herein lies the Holy Grail!&nbsp; Deep down this passage we might find the sleeping kings of old, they and their knights waiting in slumber until the world needs them again: Fion mac Cumhaill, King Arthur, Charlemange, Key-Khosrow.. Or maybe we'll find Thomas the Rhymer and his Fairy Queen. Morgan le Fay might be within, contemplating the unfairness of her brother's imperfect court.”<br><br>Stopping, Thomas half-turned back towards her, his face wistful. “We could very well discover just how beautiful nature can be out of the sunlight, the marvels of creation hidden away in the darkness of Mother Earth...” One eyebrow cocked wryly in a form of self-depreciating humor. “Or maybe we'll find ourselves!&nbsp; Wouldn't that be something?”<br><br>His eyes followed the outline of her silhouetted against the sunlight that poured through the entrance, and reverently he lifted one hand so that she could take it.<br><br>“Please?&nbsp; Show me?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>16-10-2015, 00:10:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Ariadne took the proffered hand as she lifted her skirts and slipped into the mouth of the cavern.&nbsp; While the entrance had been only wide enough to comfortably fit one person, the passage through which it led was a fair bit wider.&nbsp; Not wide enough that the pair could walk side by side, and so she stepped lightly behind, guiding him just over his shoulder, watching as he navigated the sandstone path, marked by occasional pools of tiny, near invisible creatures and stubby rows of stalagmite.&nbsp; She was not insensitive to the fact that neither of them were particularly equipped to traverse the terrain - her in a pair of sensible, though worn leather shoes, and him likely with a less-than hardy loafers.&nbsp; Still, she couldn't help but admire his persistence, not to mention the cut of his figure as he led her further into the darkness.&nbsp; <br><br>The farther they walked from the entrance, the darker it became, and the harder it would have been to see, but Ariadne made no move to reach for her pocket torch just yet.&nbsp; The tunnel within was a strange work of nature.&nbsp; Perhaps through a mixture of natural erosion, the tedious digging of some manner of subsurface dweller, and simple time itself, a path had been created that seemed to lead down toward the heart of the Earth itself.&nbsp; While the floor was rough and bore an unrefined look, the walls seemed to hold an iridescent shimmer of sorts.&nbsp; Mineral deposits, most like, that reflected what little sun had been sucked into the cavern and broke the rays into a thousand distant stars.&nbsp; Ariadne touched the cool rock and giggled.&nbsp; "Your pirates' treasure, my bonny sailor," she said as her fingers brushed against a golden shape.&nbsp; Pyrite or something of the sort, no doubt, but if he had a mind to imagine otherwise, than so did she.<br><br>Their path was tortuous, turning here and there, sometimes seemingly leading up, then down.&nbsp; Side paths opened, some wide enough only for a mole or a child, and even Ariadne was not keen to go crawling on hands and knees.&nbsp; She pointed and nudged, keeping their trek on a clear objective.&nbsp; "I have explored this way many times.&nbsp; Some days it yields a new gift, some new path to be lost upon.&nbsp; Today, though, I believe it knows where I wish to go."&nbsp; Even so, it was not always an easy walk.&nbsp; Sometimes the tunnel narrowed, giving the woman an excuse to sidle close to her escort, her mouth but a few inches from his ear as she whispered, "What is it you hope to find, if we should be so fortunate as to find anything at all?&nbsp; If we should be so fortunate as to survive this folly?&nbsp; A storm might come and trap us within, and then what might we do?"&nbsp; It was an entirely too dark joke.&nbsp; The cavern entrance had been high enough that the tide would never reach it, except perhaps in the case of the next Deluge.&nbsp; But how might he react, the thought that the last living person he would ever see might be a stranger of whom he knew next to nothing about?<br><br>The tunnel widened again, though neither would have known it just by looking about.&nbsp; Here the light seemed to have been extinguished altogether, leaving them in near pitch black.&nbsp; The air was stagnant, dank, and held a salty flavor.&nbsp; Underfoot, Ariadne felt a small squish that sent a wet sound through the cavern.&nbsp; She shivered a little.&nbsp; Though she had come this way time and time before, the space made her feel just the slightest bit uneasy.&nbsp; Sometimes, she thought she could feel cold fingers brush gently against her neck.&nbsp; Her breaths echoed gently around her, and as they came back, they seemed to whisper in thin ghostly voices, "You promised us love.&nbsp; You promised us eternity.&nbsp; Join us."<br><br>But when the darkness nearly became overbearing, she spotted a low glow in the distance.&nbsp; A dim greenish hue seemed to pulse, giving them light enough to see that the tunnel led downwards towards a wider opening.&nbsp; The ceilings grew taller, some supported by rough arches carved by the sea long ago.&nbsp; The green radiance grew stronger as they approached, and Ariadne felt cool water lap against her shoes.&nbsp; "My secret, Mr. Chandler," she spoke confidingly.&nbsp; Before them was a small grotto, illuminated by flora that had long forgotten the sun and so had learned to make light of their own.&nbsp; A turquoise pool stretched out at their feet, wider than one might be able to tread comfortably, and deep enough that Ariadne had never dared touch the bottom.<br><br>"So, what do you think shall come up from these depths to meet us?&nbsp; Mermaids?&nbsp; The Kraken?"&nbsp; Edging towards the lake, she cast a curious glance over her shoulders.&nbsp; "Tell me, Mr. Chandler, do you know how to swim?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>19-10-2015, 01:49:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Exhaustion or no, Thomas was feeling the beat of his heart against his breastbone as they made their way deeper into the winding tunnel. If there was any fear, it was that associated with the thrill of discovery and the search for the unknown, the very quality that had made him the perfect candidate for the Order despite his quiet demeanor. That the hand of a very beautiful and lively woman was in his had some impact upon the thundering within his chest was not lost on the scholar. It merely added to the adventure. When she remarked about pirates' treasure and called him <em>her</em> bonny sailor?&nbsp; Thomas paused to look and shyly grinned at her. Oh, yes, he had heard the possessive in her comment. <br><br>“Not pirate treasure, my dear,” he ventured bravely with a slight blush. “<em>Pyrite</em> treasure.”<br><br>As they travelled further into the bowels of the earth and the air became chill about them, Thomas continued to marvel at the array of minerals that glittered all around them in those chambers where the sunlight still managed to reach its fingers. As a boy, he had had quite the rock collection. It was still somewhere in the basement of his shop, if he remembered aright. A childhood dream, boxed away, now made manifest before the marveling adult as he tread hand-in-hand with a new playmate. <br><br>“What do I hope to find?” he asked in a hushed voice that was oddly serious in its wonderment. “I don't know! What would be the point of searching if you already knew what it was and why it was there?&nbsp; If a storm arises, it will pass in time. If the sea should rise, there are pockets high enough where they will be air?&nbsp; If the cliff should collapse and bury the entrance behind us?”&nbsp; Thomas shrugged indifferently. “There's food enough to be found if we look, I imagine, other creatures having made their homes here. We would survive for a time.”<br><br>Thomas gave her a look that might have been considered saucy if not for the abashed blush upon his cheeks. “At the least, we'd have each other for company.”<br><br>He was very much aware of her as they squeezed through narrower passages, feeling her warmth close by despite the chill of the cave. Those wider channels that still allowed for distance between them? The scholar was loath to be too apart from her, his finger holding just that much tighter around her delicate hand without his realizing it. A slight anxiety over separation niggled at Thomas, but it was in no way related to being lost. <br><br>In the darkest of the chambers, he heard the squish of her boot as it fell upon something soft and wet, and his own shoe skidded slightly on damp patch that yielded to his weight. It smelt odd to him. Brine and copper, faint but distinct. He shrugged it off as nothing of concern, thinking they had merely entered a wider cavern where bats might sleep and were now treading through their guano. Or perhaps some other creature made it lair there. Close as the entrance of the tunnels was to the shore, Thomas did not once believe it could be the den of any animal large enough to challenge them, much less attack. “I think my shoes will need a bit of cleaning after this,” he joked lightly.<br><br>But that laugh died in his throat as they entered the outmost aurora of that phosphorus glow. Eyes wide and mouth agape, Thomas took in the sight of the underground pool with a sense of wonder. <em>Preternatural</em>. That was the first word that came to his mind as he gazed upon the beauty and size of the subterranean lagoon before them. The temperature was slightly warmer there, as well. Which made perfect sense to Thomas as the lichen that grew and glowed all about them had to have some heat or energy off of which to feed without the sunlight. Any quips he might have had to respond to her fancies about mermaids or the Kraken lay dormant in his mind, too stifled by the overwhelming sense of awe at Miss Williams's secret.<br><br>“Of course,” he murmured to himself without realized what it was she had asked. Thomas's mind was still stuck. “An underground spring-fed river. It must have fed through here and carved its way out to the sea once. Probably forms part of the town's fresh water supply. No telling how far down it goes, although it could still connect to the ocean through another channel, further down, and this pool is...”<br><br>Thomas stopped dead and blinked, turning to face Ariadne with a look of confusion. <br><br>“I'm sorry?&nbsp; Did you say-”<br><br>He stopped himself cold from continuing. <br><br>Thomas pondered over the old axiom of how a lack of sleep often led to making poor decisions. Perhaps it was his own exhaustion, but at the moment he realized how false that assumption had to be. Weariness did not necessarily lead to bad choices, but rather it allowed for one making choices that one might not normally make. As he regarded the lovely woman who had shown him her most private of sanctuaries, what other choice could he make given the situation? His wrinkled coat and hat were tossed back negligently into the dryer section of the passageway behind them. <br><br>“Yes.&nbsp; Yes, I do swim, Miss Williams.” One eyebrow was raised archly. At the same time, Thomas began to kick off his loafers and let the waters soak his soaks. It was cool but not freezing. “Quite well, actually.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>19-10-2015, 20:51:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Wordlessly, Ariadne glided slowly toward the waters' edge.&nbsp; Her eyes danced over the scholar appraisingly, and she let a small smile flash across, beckoning him to join her.&nbsp; She was still playing the part of the impish mate, nothing more serious, and certainly nothing of a lascivious nature.&nbsp; Even so, she could not help but exude a certain amount of desire in her gaze.&nbsp; Her head bowed quickly and turned toward the water before she could make further spectacle of herself.<br><br>Well.&nbsp; Further spectacle, shoulders and above.<br><br>As the woman approached the lagoon, her hands came to her collar, nimble fingers making quick work of brass fastenings at her throat.&nbsp; The dark wool coat at her shoulders came away first, revealing a fluttering blouse and a trumpet-shaped skirt that accentuated the curve of her frame.&nbsp; With little thought, buttons and buckles were loosened as layers fell away.&nbsp; Beneath her daywear, she sported modest undergarments – a loose camisole, shaped by a cumbersome corset and a pair of bloomers that ended at her knees.&nbsp; Even without the frills and the shape of clothing designed by haute masters to compliment the natural shape of a woman, Ariadne had a pleasing figure.&nbsp; She was womanly, if not overly curvy.&nbsp; Some men may have complained that her chest could have been better-endowed, but her hips were full.&nbsp; The corset was deftly removed, almost with an air of delight.&nbsp; Each layer was carelessly discarded and left in a puddle on the sandy floor.&nbsp; Ariadne made no effort to make exhibitionist's sport of this; she was no courtesan from an Arabian fairy tale.&nbsp; Disrobing for her was organic, not sensual.&nbsp; All the same, it was freeing.&nbsp; <br><br>Clad only in the camisole and her pantlettes, she eagerly waded into the pool.&nbsp; As the water hit her bare skin, goosebumps darted up her legs and sent a little chill through her, but even then, she didn’t stop or wait for her companion.&nbsp; Finally, when the water was at chest height, Ariadne glanced once more at Thomas, dared him to follow, and then dove below the surface.<br><br>And she felt <em>alive</em>.<br><br>To call Ariadne an accomplished swimmer would have been an insult.&nbsp; She had been born upon the water, and if the gods were good, she would die on the sea.&nbsp; Had but she been born a fish and never need to feel the burn in her lungs as her weak body begged for the sweetness of breath.&nbsp; The urge to gulp the water, just to see if it was all but a long-held myth, seized her for a moment.&nbsp; But the reflections on the surface called out to her, as well as the man she had left behind, and she left her curiosities to be sated for another day.<br><br>She emerged from the water, long dark hair now a soaking mess.&nbsp; Her thin camisole clung to her skin as rivulets slid across valleys and crevices.&nbsp; If Thomas had had any inkling before that she was half-mad, this was sure to only further prove it.&nbsp; “Well, I have opened the door.&nbsp; I think it only fair that you make the first step.&nbsp; How shall we proceed, good sir?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>20-10-2015, 03:40:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She didn't need to make a show of undressing. Thomas was enraptured as it was as he watched her strip away more than just layers of clothing. Her acting the houri would only have seem to him to be another mask, another layer laid atop the real Araidne Williams, and as enticing as it might have been to watch her perform such a striptease it would have been mere titillation. This was more intimate, at least for him. Thomas found her shape more than simply pleasing, too. A stirring of his manhood at the sight of her gave ample evidence of that as he watched her wade into the pool. His eyes followed how the thin fabric clung to her curves, and despite the moisture of the cavern his mouth felt all too dry. <br><br>And still?&nbsp; They were two children playing. Children playing as they might play if they were adults, with a sort of free and wild innocence about them. When she resurfaced Thomas was still staring at her, his hands already at his throat stilled. If she was half-mad? Then so be it. There was a freedom in madness, too.<br><br>Thomas thought on her question seriously for all that they were playing, and after a long and silent moment his fingers began to once more work the knot of his bowtie. <br><br>“With abandon, Miss Williams.”<br><br>His undressing was a thing done slowly but without any hesitation, the man's air being one of distraction as he pulled away his tie from around the collar and cast it behind him with coat and hat. Thomas began to undo the buttons of his shirt, his trousers, his bracers, and they joined the pile that was forming just beyond the darkness. “You've opened the door, yes. And the next step is mine. But having entered this your labyrinth, Araidne, will you give me twine to find my way out? Or the abyss... is it best faced without such securities? Can one face truly face the fears if one knows they are still safe?”<br><br>Down to his undershirt and boxers, then, his socks already having been surrendered as he spoke. There was a slight hesitation then, a moment of choice, and then the undershirt was cast aside with the rest of his own layers to leave his arousal plain for her to see. Only Thomas's eyes did not follow the drops of water that clung to the hills and valleys of her flesh, or if they did so then it was merely peripherally. Instead, he sought out those curiously golden eyes.<br><br>He was lean. Perhaps a little too lean, if anything, but he was healthy. Daily walks, a morning regime of exercise, and a sensible diet had left Thomas fit if not overly athletic; if there was to be any complaint, perhaps it was that his ribs stuck out a little. Women had always been trying to feed him since he was a youngster. As careworn as he was at the moment, though, his flesh was firm and his blood rich even as his hollowed eyes and cheeks bespoke of needing sleep. Those eyes still shone brightly in the darkness of the pool. Yes, Araidne would learn a great many things about Thomas Chandler as he stood there before and above her, not the least of which would be the count and quality of his scars.<br><br>Something vicious and savage had once mauled his left forearm. There were slashes and dots and dashes of welts and pocks that might spell out some arcane spell in nightmarish Morse Code. Something in his past had ravaged that forearm with a singleminded hatred. In the glow of the lichen, the mended and hairless flesh gleamed silvery-white. A half-conscious attempt to hide the old wound made caused him to rub his arm with the opposite hand as though he might hide it, as though he were embarrassed by it. <br><br>Then he was running, running and diving into the pool in a shallow arc that carried him past her and into the depths. When his body struck the water, the chill of it shocked through his body. Arousal abated somewhat as the bracing waters chilled him and dispelled a bit more of his weariness. How far down he let himself sink he didn't know. When his ears began to feel sharp pressure, Thomas curled himself into a ball and then launched itself towards the shimmering surface automatically. He did swim well, or at least had. It had been a few years since he had indulged himself, and his muscles protested a little at having to summon forth the memory of those motions. But he was certainly more awake than he had been! Yet, the surreal quality of the adventure remained. Thomas was quite sure he would not have it any other way.<br><br>He surfaced surprisingly close to Araidne, his face only mere inches away from hers as he caught his breath and stared once more into those golden eyes...<br><br>Entranced, he leaned in closer to her, licking his lips. It was a moment of magic, he felt. A man, a woman, alone? In a secluded pool?&nbsp; Scarcely dressed and scarcely sane, Thomas knew in that instant that this moment might never come again, and should he miss the opportunity with her it could never come again. His heart beat hard in the prison of his chest. Trembling, he raised one hand towards her as the other helped him to tread water and stay afloat. She would see that hand coming up from beneath the water, the drops of it running off of his hand as it broke the surface, the fingertips twitching as though seeking something out but being unsure if they should dare. His lips parted.<br><br>Thomas tapped her nose with his index finger as lightly as snowflake might fall and whispered huskily, <em>“Tag.&nbsp; You're it.”</em><br><br>And then he pushed himself away from her, heading into the deeper waters of the lagoon and grinning in shy foolishness.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>27-10-2015, 05:23:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There was a certain morbid kind of fascination associated with a creature such as Ariadne watching a man undress.&nbsp; To put it mildly, it was akin to playing dress-up with one's food.&nbsp; Her eyes were fixed on him as he stripped away the vestments of a man of refinement and education, revealing the warm-blooded creature beneath.&nbsp; He was too thin for a hearty meal, and too gaunt by half, but he was a man, all the same, as was made plain by the growing bulge that was barely concealed by his undergarments.&nbsp; If she could breathe life into him again, what more would she possibly want for?<br><br>She tread water lazily as he made his descent into the waters, watching with curiosity as he became nothing more than a vague peach-colored outline beneath the green surface, only to emerge such a short distanced from herself.&nbsp; It almost shocked her to have him so close, even after she had just had his arm linked so intimately with hers.&nbsp; The suddenness had her frozen, and she found that she almost could not lock eyes with him, for all the intensity trapped behind that gaze.&nbsp; Time slowed down.&nbsp; She found herself glancing rapidly from him to his hand, back to him again, until she couldn't help but to stare at his trembling digits as they came ever closer, closing the distance, inching steadily toward her face -<br><br>- Her head nearly jerked back as his finger found the tip of her nose.&nbsp; Flabbergasted, his words hardly registered for a moment.&nbsp; It wasn't until a spray of water doused her that she realized what had happened.&nbsp; <br><br>She blinked.&nbsp; Once.&nbsp; Twice.&nbsp; Her gaze followed him as he fled further into the lagoon, a child cleverly masquerading as a hunter of monsters.&nbsp; Part of her wanted to rail.&nbsp; Didn't he know who she was?&nbsp; Didn't he know <em>what</em> she was?&nbsp; Men with twice his strength and purported virility had crumbled like sandcastles beneath the waves with a mere flick of her hand.&nbsp; And he dare treat her like some childish play thing?&nbsp; How dare he tease her with tentative brushes, only attempt to reel her like some bass?!<br><br>And yet, much to the chagrin of ever elder that had come before her, that part was quickly buried deep inside, locked away in some dark recess she hoped she would never have to face.&nbsp; <br><br>Ariadne's lips curled into a smirk.&nbsp; Well, now - if he wanted a game, then the chase was on.<br><br>Fast as a flash, the woman dove beneath the surface.&nbsp; Water turned to white foam as tiny bubbles were jettisoned in her wake.&nbsp; Luminescent algae seemed to part in her honor as she zipped around the aquatic undergrowth in pursuit of her quarry.&nbsp; He couldn't possibly know how easy it would have been for her to catch up to him, even with his generous head-start.&nbsp; Below the iridescent waves, she could see him.&nbsp; His pale flesh, his lean but strong legs propelling him forward.&nbsp; All she had to do was kick out - one, two, three strokes - and he would be right there, right within arm's reach.&nbsp; Her hand stretched, long fingers splayed, ready to grasp his ankle, but then she faltered.&nbsp; <br><br>No, why rush the hunt?&nbsp; Ariadne fell behind and made a wide arc out to the side before she surfaced.&nbsp; She inhaled deeply as her body emerged and she began a leisurely back stroke.&nbsp; As each hand lifted from the water, droplets cascaded downward like glassy sleeves that trickled down the curve of her arm toward the valley between her now prominently displayed chest.&nbsp; She sighed.&nbsp; How long had it been since she had simply let herself indulge in this kind of sweet nothingness?&nbsp; The world melted into salt water that washed over her tired body.&nbsp; Ariadne closed her eyes and let the soft green glow of the cavern flicker behind her eyelids as her remaining four senses swelled.&nbsp; Blood pounded in her ears her heart beat echoed against the lake water against her head, making for a rather calming soundtrack.&nbsp; Cool water lapped against her skin.&nbsp; She breathed deep and let the briny scent fill her nose.<br><br>Suddenly, her eyes shot open.&nbsp; She breathed deep once more, and a tremor coursed through her.&nbsp; There was something... something in the grotto that smelled delectable.&nbsp; Her stomach churned, rolling over itself into a tight knot that made her belly cramp.&nbsp; Oh, gods, what was that delightful scent?&nbsp; It was making her so very hungry.&nbsp; When was the last time she had fed?&nbsp; The dockside lamb?&nbsp; Oh, he had been a treat, but more a palate cleanser than a proper dish.&nbsp; Without thinking, Ariadne turned on her side and began swimming with more intent.&nbsp; Like a reptile, she glided along the surface, silently stalking.&nbsp; Her body swayed to and fro, barely breaking the water or making a sound as she drew ever closer.&nbsp; Her head dipped beneath the water, followed by the rest of her body, but her mind was still full of the taste.&nbsp; Her tongue dragged against her sharp teeth.&nbsp; Nails extended, slowly morphing into talons.&nbsp; Closer... closer.&nbsp; All she had to do was -<br><br>- No!&nbsp; A voice inside of her mind shrieked, waking her from her strange trance just in time to realize that her claw-like hands were poised to strike at Thomas' soft belly.&nbsp; She gasped, nearly choking on water, and forced herself to surface - just a little too close to Thomas - and sputtered the phosphorescent water.&nbsp; As she coughed and cleared her throat, she tried to grin sheepishly.&nbsp; "An unfair ploy, but perhaps an effective one."&nbsp; With a quick tap, she pat his wet hair with now less-than-talon'd hands, then scooted away.&nbsp; "Tag, Mr. Chandler.&nbsp; You are it."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>31-10-2015, 22:27:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He had not the least idea how close he'd come to his own demise. Later he might wonder at the faint, near undetectable scratches along the lines of his stomach, and puzzle over how they'd come about. For now, though? Thomas was simply too addled by lack of sleep, the sight of her lush body slicing through the water, and the sheer wonder of the moment to even consider death in any form at all. His eyes did not fail to note how the water cascaded about her breasts as she had backstroked towards him. It quickened his heart and hardened his manhood even as they continued to play. If he thought anything at all about her remarkable skill at swimming, it was only in reflection to how out of practice he felt he was. It was the game, though, that he focused on. <br><br>“So it would seem, Miss Williams,” he grinned back. “Although I believe that all is fair in love and war.”&nbsp; Which this was, the scholar wasn't quite clear. The boundaries between such things were often nebulous in these matters, and the question would have been thrown in much sharper relief had he known her true nature. <br><br>They chased and tagged one another for quite some time, and Thomas was quite sure that on a number of occasions she had let him succeed in tagging her. Ariadne was far too nimble for him to match on a frequent basis. One or two taps, he hoped, were genuinely due to his efforts, but either way he scarcely cared. It was the game itself that was important, not who won! He thought she seemed to appreciate his unflagging devotion to the chase. There was a sense of them both feeding off of one another's enjoyment. And had he any more energy to spare, that chase might have gone on for a great deal longer. Only his second wind was nearly completely blown out. His overtasked muscles and bleary mind could last for just so long.&nbsp; And so Thomas cheated a little at the last.<br><br>She had tagged him one more, but instead of lunging after her Thomas instead leaned back and used his feet to wrap about her one leg before she could swim away again.&nbsp; Ariadne would easily be able to break away if she wished. Only he hoped his intent would be clear and that she would allow herself to be drawn into a one-armed embraced as they treaded in the middle of the pool. The young man could feel the heat of her, impossibly, just a few feet away from him and he wanted to share in that warmth. <br><br>“Miss Williams,” he offered shyly. “Would it be too terrible of me to ask you to call me Thomas?”<br><br>More than a kiss, a gesture that would have flooded his head with a number of fancies and fantasies, the idea of those perfect lips against his flesh a sure drug to leave him intoxicated, Thomas wanted to hear&nbsp; Ariadne call him by his give name. Were she to give him that, if he could hear the lyrical sound of those syllables from her lovely throat...<br><br>“And might I have the pleasure of taking you out to dinner tomorrow night?”&nbsp; He gave a small shrug. “Haverton might not be replete with restaurants, but I did receive some excellent recommendations from my landlord. Or perhaps there is someplace that you favor?”&nbsp; His soft eyes brightened for a moment as an idea came to mind. “Or should the afternoon weather prove warm enough, a picnic? Your comments the other day regarding <em>The Odyssey</em>... I truly wanted to hear more about your opinions on the work.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>04-11-2015, 17:54:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;After her one moment of weakness, their game continued without incident, though Ariadne was somewhat more reserved in her gaiety from that point on.&nbsp; Even so, she was still enjoying herself immensely.&nbsp; She hardly even balked as her companion shot out his bony limbs, ensnaring her own ankle with his feet.&nbsp; It would have been nothing to disentangle herself and zoom through the water, but she felt his exhaustion.&nbsp; It was written plain on his face in the universal hand of his bloodshot eyes and the dark rings lining his lids.&nbsp; So she playfully resisted for only a moment before allowing herself to be pulled into his arms.<br><br>“Ah, you have caught me handily, sir,” she lamented.&nbsp; “What torment shall you bestow upon your captive?<br><br>What came next was not what she had expected in the least, though by now, she was beginning to understand his character a little better.&nbsp; His bashful manner was so singular that it never ceased to catch her off guard.&nbsp; “No,” she replied with a queer little half-smile.&nbsp; “No, I don’t think that would be so terrible at all.&nbsp; But only on the condition that you return the favor and call me Ariadne.”<br><br>And now, here, alone and nearly naked in this secluded grotto, he was not lusting after her flesh, but seeking to court her.&nbsp; Oh, it was true, in the past, there had been many men under her charms who sought to do the noble thing before bedding her, but they counted few, and they had been acting under the guise of modesty.&nbsp; There was none of that to be had here.&nbsp; &nbsp;His arm draped about her waist and held her mere inches from his body.&nbsp; The heat of his manhood standing at attention practically radiated through the water and soaked into her skin. <br><br>Was it the exhaustion finally setting in?&nbsp; Was he merely too tired and weak to make an advance?&nbsp; If that were all, then it would have been nothing for her to push him onto the shore and ravage him as she claimed him, but there was strong doubt that it would be what he wanted.&nbsp; &nbsp;She wanted him to want it first.&nbsp; For any of this to be right, she <em>needed</em> him to want it first.<br><br>“The pleasure would be mine, I think,” she replied demurely, as if they were out on the streets of Haverton and she was still a proper lady, not a brine-soaked woman likely wearing seaweed in her black tresses.&nbsp; “A picnic on the green sounds lovely.&nbsp; But now, I think, the hour has grown late, and we should begin our return if we want to avoid high tide.” <br>&nbsp;<br>At first, Ariadne made as if to pull away, but then a thought caught her fancy.&nbsp; As he still held her, she slowly placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, swallowed, and leaned forward, and planted a small, chaste kiss on his cheek.&nbsp; “Thank you,” she whispered.&nbsp; “For today, M-… Thomas.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>08-11-2015, 21:43:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He nodded with regretful understanding. After all he had endured, Thomas had truly needed a moment such as he had shared with Ariadne. It reminded him that he was alive, that there remained life after all the death that had occurred, and it reminded him that he was part of that. When had been the last time he had played that like?&nbsp; Certainly not since he was a child! And when had been the last time he had felt the first stirrings not for the appreciation for a woman but for the recognition that the interest was reciprocated?! Clueless as Thomas tended to be in terms of affairs of the heart, he was convinced that there was a connection growing between him and Ariadne. It was insane, of course. There was no such thing as “first sight.” To him, such things had to be cultivated and grown with great care. And yet, seeded in his loneliness and exhaustion, the seed of affection for her was rapidly growing. <br><br>Could his blush have been any deeper than when she kissed him so chastely upon the cheek and spoke his Christian name?&nbsp; Had she stripped completely naked and danced luridly for him, carried him down the floor and ravaged him, claimed him, the pleased flush upon his face could not have blazed any hotter than from that single kiss.<br><br>Together, they swam to shore and began to dress themselves, damp clothing against wet bodies. Thomas still blushed but there was a happy if tired grin on his face. Now and then he glanced at her as she clothed herself, and his smile grew just a little wider each time. In fact, Thomas didn't think he could stop smiling.<br><br>“I fear we might receive quite the scolding for the state of our clothing,” he teased. There was not the slightest bit of contrition in his words; he did not regret any of it, neither what happened nor what didn't happen. <br><br>Back out of the cave they wound themselves, through the dark and foul smelling chamber and through the chambers of false hopes and gold until they reached the honest sea once more. The tide had started rising once more. The sea was vast and powerful, and it wasn't about to halt its patterns for the hearts of two creatures that skimmed its edges. Somehow, Thomas took comfort even in that, too.<br><br>Along the docks, he and Ariadne passed the fisherman and boat captains as they tended to their mid-afternoon tasks before setting out one last time. They stared after the pair strangely. Thomas took no notice of them, no more than he did of the looks that the townfolk of Haverton gave the disheveled duo as arm in arm they sauntered slowly towards the boarding house. He didn't quite remember exactly what they spoke about. His brain was too fatigued, but he did recall later their setting plans for dinner and picnic. There were other things, too, but his faculties were simply too overwhelmed by all that had happened for him to retain it all. Had he told her he was scared to go to sleep?&nbsp; Had Thomas confessed to Ariadne that he didn't want to face the nightmares again? Or was it just a waking dream that he had as she escorted him to the safety of the Milligan's home? He had smiled the whole way back, he was sure of that. How could he not?<br><br>One moment, Ariadne was there and the next she was gone. So, too, was the outside scene of the street, replaced by hallway of the boarding house just as his companion had been replaced by the concerned and motherly features of Mrs. Milligan as she peered up into the face of her guest.<br><br>“Mr. Chandler!&nbsp; Whatever happened!&nbsp; It looks like you fell into the sea!”<br><br>Blearily, Thomas frowned. Had that happened?&nbsp; No. No, that wasn't right. A goofy grin came once more to his lips as he brought to mind what had happened.&nbsp; There was the notion that he should do something to commemorate the events of the day, that he should sing or dance or write poetry.&nbsp; That last part stuck in his mind a bit. Poetry?&nbsp; There was something important about the notion of poetry. It had something to do with why he was there. Only the sight of Ariadne's smiling lips and golden eyes overtook all of his senses, relegating everything to second or less in priority. He chuckled to himself as the older woman fussed over his state, reflecting that had Ariadne been Circe or Calypso she would not have needed magic to charm him. Thomas's own mental fatigue and her own nature had served her well enough! <br><br>“No, Mrs. Milligan. I... I don' think I did.&nbsp; I think... I think I fell in love.”&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>09-11-2015, 04:12:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The walk home had been remarkably uneventful, though how could it have been otherwise, compared to everything that had happened between that morning and the moment that Ariadne had left Thomas on the doorstep of the Milligan's boarding house?&nbsp; It might have been easy enough for her to press for the details of items that he would otherwise might not have been comfortable sharing with a newly made acquaintance - the nature of his occupation, associates, other useful names - he was certainly bleary and unguarded enough.&nbsp; But there was a kind of unspoken honor system regarding these things.&nbsp; Ariadne had shared one thing, Thomas had opened the door to another.&nbsp; Tomorrow, perhaps, she would give him something else, and in time she would have access to his wealth of knowledge.&nbsp; Taking advantage of him now would have been poor sportsmanship - and boring.<br><br>Instead, they spoke of easy things.&nbsp; Where would their picnic be?&nbsp; The green just by the bluff where they had first met, but of course.&nbsp; And their dinner fare?&nbsp; Simple things - the grocer and others would surely be more than happy to oblige in foods that were not difficult to handle without the benefit of a fully set table.&nbsp; Perhaps Ariadne herself might supply something to tempt a sweet palate.&nbsp; What time?&nbsp; 5 o'clock, before the sun would set across the harbor.&nbsp; And before they had known it, they were on the front step of the boarding house.&nbsp; Ariadne was half tempted to leave Thomas with another small peck, but one seemed far more than sufficient for a single day.&nbsp; Anything else might be considered excess, and so she left him with a small squeeze of the hand and a farewell.<br><br>There were things that the woman had to take care of before returning to her own small quarters.&nbsp; First and foremost, she would have to return her findings to Mr. Marsters' office.&nbsp; Seeing that her employer was still out with the sisters of Our Lady, she carefully laid her report on his desk in plain view.&nbsp; There would likely be questions she would have to answer upon the morrow ("What are those green stains?&nbsp; And why in God's name does this smell of sea-salt, Miss Williams?" were the first two that she would later hear and parry) , but it would do for the present. The office was completely empty.&nbsp; Even Captain Denny had retired for the day, and Ariadne found herself uncharacteristcally lonely.&nbsp; On another day, she might have finished typing a memo or two, but in her still-sodden state and somewhat lackluster mood, she withdrew to her residence above.<br><br>The place was empty, as it always was.&nbsp; Once upon a time, she had considered adopting a cat to keep her company.&nbsp; Some animals did not take well to her kind, namely dogs, who were all too loyal guardians of men.&nbsp; Felines, on the other hand, were kindred hunters and had the same sort of independent spirit that a woman in her situation could appreciate.&nbsp; She later dismissed the notion, though.&nbsp; If she were going to keep a companion, it might as well be one that talked.<br><br>She stripped her sodding clothes from her now pruning and clammy skin and began drawing a hot bath for herself.&nbsp; While the swim had felt remarkable, as she sank into the tub, she practically melted against the porcelain.&nbsp; Letting the steam soak into her skin, she took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and contemplated the enigma that was Thomas Chandler.&nbsp; Something bothered her.&nbsp; She had been given to mood swings and whimsy, but never had she made to attack a man so outright, especially if he wasn't hunting her.&nbsp; She was decades too old for that kind of lack of self-restraint.&nbsp; Would the elders have an explanation for the behavior, or would they simply scold her for her childishness.&nbsp; Trust the old crones to make her skin crawl, and she ultimately decided that she would rather eat crow than seek their advice on anything outside of her responsibilities.<br><br>Thomas was altogether a singular creature.&nbsp; A schoolboy in a man's body.&nbsp; A poet and a soldier.&nbsp; A scholar and a fool.&nbsp; His infatuation was plain, and yet it was unlike anything she had encountered with a quarry.&nbsp; The way he gazed at her in the bioluminescent pool, his caress warm and innocent, was altogether infuriating, and yet somehow... enticing.&nbsp; Could she make him long for her?&nbsp; Not simple lust and enchantment, but genuine desire?&nbsp; The thought warmed her cheeks, and more.&nbsp; She remembered how he had held her, his manhood barely sheathed by his thin trunks, and before long, a gentle hand found its way to her inner thigh.&nbsp; It slid downard until it found a spot that would have felt more slick, had it not been for the bath water.&nbsp; Her other hand cupped a swollen breast.&nbsp; "Thomas," she whispered breathily as she slid a digit between aching folds.&nbsp; He had asked her to use his given name.&nbsp; How would he react if he had known she was speaking it now as she was?<br><br>The memory of the intenseness of his sleepless green eyes made her ache all the more.&nbsp; Her cheeks were rosy and flushed.&nbsp; She could blame it on the steam and hide her indiscretions, but why ought she?&nbsp; She was not one of them.&nbsp; She did not feel their false and superfluous shame. Again she used his name, and again and again, as if worshipping some idol as she offered her body in some unholy ritual.&nbsp; Practiced hands easily attended to the flesh, and soon, her back arched against the tub as she cried out one last time.&nbsp; <br><br>Sweat mixed with steam beaded across her forehead.&nbsp; Ariadne relaxed as the memory of his bashful inquiry to have her join him for dinner swam into her mind.&nbsp; Slowly lifting an arm from the water, she mused over a row of glistening feathers that had sprouted from her forearms.&nbsp; Dinner, indeed.&nbsp; How that word meant took on such a different meaning with the other men of her acquaintance.&nbsp; "Oh, my poor Thomas.&nbsp; What would you think of me, now?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>11-11-2015, 05:56:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br>He'd no memory of getting to bed. From the hallway to his room, there was nothing but the vague impression of having eaten a Welsh rarebit.&nbsp; Mrs. Milligan had been saying... something. Thomas wasn't quite sure what. But as he felt the warmth of the blankets about him and the softness of the mattress under his lanky frame, he blessed her for a motherly soul and let sleep claim him. He'd fought it for too long. There were not terms to be offered, no conditional surrender allowed. Instead, sleep simply yanked him down into darkness without even waiting for him to give in. As much as the scholar was terrified of the nightmares, there was no further avoiding them.<br><br>And they were there, waiting for him. All of his colleagues and friends, Emma with her rotting arms to embrace him in a lie, the worms preparing for the feast. <br><br>It was different this time, though. They didn't call to their absent comrade. There was no cajoling to join them in the cold earth, no accusations that it was all his fault that they were dead. None of them demanded justice or cried that it was not fair that Thomas should still live. Some had wives and children, others had lives more in touch with the daily turning of the world, and what worth did Thomas have?&nbsp; He was the least of them and deserved their fate, not the freedom to still walk upon the earth! Such was their usual want in his dreams, but that night they were oddly silent. Their fleshless skulls grinned now as they smiled as if in anticipation.<br><br>Waiting.<br><br>The knowledge of it did not make Thomas scream or cry out in the night as was his usual want when visited by such horrors, but he was all the more afraid for that as he slumbered on. There were other images, too. Like some music hall showing off its acts in review, Thomas was the singular audience to the sights of the stern Mr. Merriweather dancing with Mrs. Milligan as Mr. Milligan watched on scowling from his chair. And Brophy, good old reliable Brophy who'd taken it upon himself to watch over the eccentric Thomas Chandler?&nbsp; Brophy played an unearthly music with the strings of his heart and the wound gut of his bowels, smiling all the while and oblivious to the blood that dripped from between his strumming fingers. Sister Prior sang, or at least attempted to; the crucifix lodged in her windpipe had stilled her voice, and so the Christ image that hung upon it sung for her in a keening wail as its eyes dripped red. Ariadne was there, too, standing side by side with Thomas as they watched the grisly show and critiquing the whole of it as though they were in some gallery wherein they might admire any number of paintings.<br><br>Once, at some point as the moon was low and the sun threatening to rise, he dreamed of a small owl at his window. It started in at him with unblinking eyes. Then it was gone, the owl and the moment both, forgotten as a final restful blackness claimed him.<br><br>“Poems!”&nbsp; Thomas sat upright in his borrowed bed, his mind furiously clinging to the last image his dreams had granted him. The insight was fading, and whatever the inspiration that made him recall that the missing young man's room had been full of poetry was nearly gone. The source was irrelevant, really. It had been in both the news articles he'd scanned and in the local gossip, and he'd missed it before during his waking hours.&nbsp; But now?&nbsp; Wild eyed and reminded by Morpheus, Thomas realized there might be more clues to be had among the dead man's belongings.<br><br>It was nearly noon when he awoke, the perfect time to inquire of David Phillips's former landlord as to whether or not he might gain access to whatever was left of his tenant's possessions. Thomas recalled that Phillips had been renting a room above one the local pubs.&nbsp; A publican was more likely to be about in the afternoon than the morning. <br><br>Only in his frantic dash to interview his next target, Thomas overlooked one thing: the formidable sensitivities of his own landlady, Mrs. Milligan.&nbsp; She halted his headlong flight before he even made it to the front hall and was informed quite clearly that while they sympathized with the ordeal that he had suffered, some behaviors were simply not acceptable. To whit? His eating habits. Mrs. Milligan was one of those women of the time who took absence from the table as an insult, and so he found the matronly woman marching him into the dining room to a proper lunch before he did anything else. Thomas, ever the gentleman and well aware he had been neglecting his own physical needs of late, peacefully yielded and apologized. Of Miss Williams there was little to be said. It was clear that she wanted to say something only that one portion of her opinions was at war with another. The idea of a single man of means being unattached was anathema to her, and should the solicitor's secretary and the eccentric scholar make a match, she could scarce complain! Yet the previous day's antics had worried her as to how appropriate their outlandish behavior might be viewed...<br><br>It was close to two by the time Thomas finally ate enough to make his watchful landlady a happier woman. His belly was full enough that he found he would have to walk at a placid pace as opposed to harrying off as he had been.&nbsp; The good was good, filling. But now a different hunger propelled him on as he sought to another piece of the puzzle.<br><br>Along the way, he passed by the solicitor's offices, and Thomas's stroll became slower still as his eyes went to the second story.&nbsp; It gave him pause to think. How much of the day before had happened... and how much had he imagined or dreamed?&nbsp; How much of it did he dare to hope was real?!<br><br>Again, his mind took another turnings, and before he quite knew what he was doing Thomas began to knock upon that door to see if he might call upon Ariadne Williams early... just for a moment, of course.<br><br>Thomas grimaced even as he knocked, suddenly worried that he might have some small speck of his lunch still stuck in his teeth.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>11-11-2015, 18:18:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				A burnt golden sliver of sunlight was barely peeking above the horizon when Ariadne attended to her toilette for the day to come.&nbsp; She had been awake for nearly an hour, now.&nbsp; Sleep was a luxury for her, not a true necessity.&nbsp; Only a few hours a night were required for her to feel rested, though not necessarily re-energized.&nbsp; For that to happen, Ariadne had to feed.<br><br>Feeding on the charmed was an unusual habit that her kind were forced to maintain.&nbsp; One, of course, could eat food that was found to be part of a normal palate in society and be sufficiently sustained - that is, if they wanted to be a little more than a living corpse.&nbsp; Man could live on fruits and vegetables, if he so desired, though his strength would be severely diminished with malnutrition, and so it was for her kind as well.&nbsp; And even physically satiated, one would still feel that lurking hunger itch in the back of their mind, an ever-present need for the taste of warm flesh dashed with a seasoning of lust.&nbsp; As much as Ariadne rationalized it, though, it was more than that.&nbsp; They thrived on the hunt; it was in their very nature.&nbsp; To deny themselves the thrill was practically to deny themselves the joy of life.&nbsp; <br><br>Was that all it was? Losing herself in the moment to the joy of the hunt? Ariadne pondered as she combed out her long, black locks.&nbsp; Still perturbed by yesterday's near-catastrophic event, she withdrew into the recesses of her subconscious, seeking out some reason that she would try to kill Thomas.&nbsp; Was she already hungry?&nbsp; She had supped on Davy Phillips mere weeks ago, and surely she had gone longer than that without a proper meal.&nbsp; It was too soon to stalk another victim in Haverton without raising suspicion, even a sailor.&nbsp; Would she have to venture outside of Haverton?&nbsp; That was an unpleasant thought, particularly in that it meant losing time with Thomas.&nbsp; If she left town for the single purpose of finding another victim, it would take at least a week to seek the fellow, stalk him, charm him, and break him, and that was if she was sloppy.&nbsp; But if that was what it took to preserve herself with the scholar...<br><br>This was not a matter to be decided hastily in the wee hours of the morning.&nbsp; Perhaps not even today.&nbsp; As long as she guarded herself carefully, there would be no more troubles with Thomas, she assured herself.&nbsp; Even so, throughout the day as she ticked and tacked on her steno in her private corner of Mr. Marsters' office, she couldn't help but cast a wandering eye at James Denny, who had again in his unending quest to end his loneliness and to be the nosiest resident of Haverton, dropped in to badger the solicitor.&nbsp; The eccentric captain had no family in Haverton or Massachusetts, possibly even the Union, to speak of.&nbsp; How difficult would it be to plant the story that he had taken up the calling of his Majesty's navy once more?<br><br>A tap on the shoulder broke Ariadne from her dark musings. With a gesture toward the clock, Theodore Marsters reminded his secretary that she had asked for time off that afternoon, and seeing that it was past 2 o'clock, she was free to go.&nbsp; Both he and Captain Denny had teased her about a rather strange rumor they had heard -- one Mr. Chandler, gallivanting through the streets, soaking and covered in sand, and not only that, but accompanied by a certain secretary -- and so they saw fit not to say anything now.&nbsp; However, before Ariadne exited, she heard a gentle reminder from her employer not to mix work and play.&nbsp; <br><br>Despite living above the office itself, Ariadne's quarters had a separate entrance around the side and off the main street.&nbsp; She had barely settled in and removed her blazer when a rapping came at the door.&nbsp; She cocked an eyebrow.&nbsp; Surely it wasn't Mr. Marsters already calling her back down.&nbsp; He rarely called upon her at home, and when he did, it was, oddly, more often through the entrance from the storage room on the other side of her residence.&nbsp; As Ariadne went to open the door, her eyes widened just slightly.<br><br>"Thomas!"&nbsp; He seemed a little more well-rested, and frankly, a little more pink in the cheeks today.&nbsp; There was a curious look in his eye that she couldn't quite read, though guessed was... determination?&nbsp; "I wasn't expecting you for some time.&nbsp; Is something amiss?&nbsp; Oh, but I forget myself, please, come in, won't you?&nbsp; Is there anything I can get for you?&nbsp; I was about to put on a kettle."&nbsp; That was a lie - she rarely drank what a Havertonian would call tea, except socially, and certainly never at home.&nbsp; She had, however, been planning to nibble on a bit of her mystery jerky in hopes of sating her appetite before the evening, but that plan had been dashed, she though as she very quickly glanced longingly at a closet.<br><br>"Please, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>13-11-2015, 02:49:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He practically glowed when she spoke his name.&nbsp; As she stood in the doorway, inviting him in, Thomas suddenly forgot exactly <em>why</em> he'd come to knock at her door! He was determined. There was no where else that he wanted to be other than standing there upon her porch and being invited in, but he couldn't quite recall how that decision had come to be made. There was work to be done, after all. He'd sat idle in grief long enough, and... and...<br><br>She was so beautiful that it made it hard for him to think, and her voice?&nbsp; Thomas swore that he could feel it in his heart as much as within his ears.<br><br>“No, no, thank you,” he stammered, blinking even as he followed her up the steps automatically, “I... er...”<br><br><em>'I wanted to make sure you made it home last night.'</em> That was one thing that came to mind. So, too, was, <em>'I thought I might ask what sort of wine you'd like with our meal later.'&nbsp; 'Were we meeting at five o'clock or five thirty?' 'If it rains, shall we go the gazebo in the park, instead?' 'I wished to thank you for your timely intervention yesterday,'</em> And, stupidly, <em>'Do you think we should bring a lantern and spare blanket, it does get cold!'</em>&nbsp; In truth, there were probably fifty different replies that Thomas could have given her in that moment, and they all did have some measure of truth to them! Only in having just a measure of truth meant they also had a measure of falsehood, and he couldn't quite bring himself to lie to Ariadne at that moment. So it was the unvarnished truth that came out of his mouth.<br><br>“I... I just wanted to see you.”&nbsp; Thomas paused expectantly as though waiting to see if there was anything more that he had to say, but then gave an embarrassed little laugh at his own expense, doffing his hat and scratching at the back of his hair, perplexed and amused by his own actions. “Silly, I know, you probably still working and this not being the best time to receive callers, but I was on my way to take care of some business and I passed the house and I thought you might be in. And I know we would see each other in just a few short hours anyway, I would have been coming by so that we might walk together to our picnic. Nor did I think it very likely that we might go harrying off like we did yesterday, that being a spur of the moment sort of thing that I don't think could be recreated by trying to force it. Only none of that mattered because the very moment that I thought you might be home, now? I wanted to see you.&nbsp; Perhaps not the most <em>romantic </em>or eloquent of explanations, but there you have it!”<br><br>A slight awkward silence followed as Thomas debated whether he should say anything more or not.<br><br>“There was a man named Thomas Chandler,” he then added as though telling her a very powerful story, “and he found himself captivated by a beautiful and intelligent and lively woman named Ariadne Williams. And for no reason that he could ascribe, he wanted to see her and hear her voice to reassure himself that she was real and not part of some fevered dream that he never seemed to wake from.”<br><br><em>'Because so much else of my life has been a lie.' </em> <br><br>“That you were real, Ariadne.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>14-11-2015, 00:53:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She had succeeded.<br><br>In a matter of days, with an arsenal of innocence, guile, and beauty, she had ensnared this man. She had not even had to sing to him, not really.&nbsp; A note was nothing more than a gentle nudge, not a true charm.&nbsp; Amongst human women, this would have been called feminine wiles, but Ariadne ignored that fact.&nbsp; Deep, deep back in the depths of her mind, she would bury away the hint of a thought that he was enchanted, not by sundry arts she had learned over the years to steal men's hearts, but by her own person.&nbsp; Because that could never be true.&nbsp; It was the essence of her nature.&nbsp; <br><br>A cruel, though more honest, and perhaps in her own way, more kindly woman might have laughed at Thomas.&nbsp; "Real?" she might have spat back.&nbsp; "Real?&nbsp; All the world is but a stage, Mr. Chandler, the men and women merely actors," she might have scoffed as she threw open the door to her closet, revealing the uneaten remains of some fool who had been in Thomas' shoes some odd months ago.&nbsp; A cruel woman might have told him that all life was a farce, and that reality was a sweet-smelling mask thrown over a festering corpse to make it more palatable.<br><br>A shallow woman might have cocked her head and giggled as she quipped, "I think, therefore I am.&nbsp; Don't I seem real enough?"<br><br>But that was not what he was saying, and she would not insult his intelligence that way.<br><br>A benevolent woman would have coolly led him to the door and told him to forget her and what little time they had spent together.&nbsp; She would have packed her things and left Haverton, leaving not a single trace, save for a faint hint of a scent or a memory of a stranger, that she had ever resided there.&nbsp; <br><br>Ariadne was none of those women.<br><br>And so, gently, ever so gently, she placed her hands about one of his, and lifted it until his palm rested against her cheek.&nbsp; Her eyes fluttered shut as she sighed contentedly, reveling in the warmth of skin against skin.&nbsp; "There is little that I can trust, even with my own eyes, my own senses.&nbsp; It is a strange, strange world we live in.&nbsp; If I close my eyes for too long, sometimes I'm afraid that I'll miss the unveiling of some great secret, some truth that's been hidden for eons, something that will change the world in some subtle, but significant way, and I'll have never known.&nbsp; Strangely, that doesn't seem to matter right now, though."<br><br>Still keeping her eyes closed, she slowly pulled his hand down across her face, a finger brushing ever-so-slightly against the corner of her mouth.&nbsp; It traveled further, a smooth line down her chin to the curve of her neck until it finally came to rest just above her bosom, his hand cupped around her heart.&nbsp; "Can you feel anything?&nbsp; I imagine no.&nbsp; Skin and bone and muscle make for a rather impressive barrier.&nbsp; But it is there, all the same."&nbsp; Finally, Ariadne opened her eyes, locking her gaze with his.&nbsp; "You know so very little about me, and I you.&nbsp; And strangely, that seems not to matter, either.&nbsp; I am real, Thomas."&nbsp; She glanced down, and then shyly, back into his stormy gaze once more.&nbsp; "I am real, and I am yours."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>14-11-2015, 15:47:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br><em>'It is a strange world we live in?&nbsp; Oh, Ariadne! If only you knew what I knew...'</em><br><br>But the rest of her confession was momentarily lost to him as she slide his unresisting hand down across the living flesh of her face and throat. Thomas swallowed nervously again as his fingers registered the softness of her skin, and his eyes captured the movement of her mouth as his one digit was drawn down past the corner of her parted lips. If the allure of that sensation was not enough, his heart practically stopped as Ariadne guided his hand down to rest upon her chest. Eyes wide, Thomas did not endeavor to even try to speak when asked if he could feel her heart. He couldn't. But he could feel a great number of other things, least of which was the tightening of his trousers as his manhood stirred to her calling once more. What was more predominantly felt was the heat of her body, her proximity. This time there was no chill pool of subterranean water to steal away the lusts of his body, there was no exhaustion in his frame of mind to cloud his senses. Moreover was the realization of how her breasts, soft and full of youth, were right below the heel of that hand.<br><br>Thomas was not a fearless man. Nor was he, in truth, a bold one. He was not without courage, however, that being the quality that a man uncertain in his path needed to proceed forward. His gaze had followed her hands placing his upon her sternum, but then his eyes rose to meet Ariadne's as she declared herself both real... and his.<br><br>“I don't understand,” he admitted softly. Was it possible for anyone to look so lost and so happy at the same time? “I don't understand how you can say such a thing after knowing me for a few days. I don't know how you can grant me such a gift when you don't know all that I am, what I've done. And I don't know how I can feel the same way towards you, Ariadne, but you are right. It doesn't matter, does it?”<br><br>His free hand rose then, slowly but not trembling, not now, as he took a half-step closer to shorten the distance between them. Thomas cupped the line of her other cheek now, cradling her jawline as he took a second half-step closer.<br><br>“You speak of great secrets? Hidden truths?” Thomas did not smile patronizingly, but instead gazed at her in reassuring adoration.&nbsp; Her admissions both today and the day before led him to believe that she was more alike of mind to him than she might guess, and if this woman truly craved to know... No, not just to know but to be a part of that hidden world...&nbsp; “I can show you some of these things if you'd like, Ariadne. I can show you things that most of humanity had forgotten or never knew to start with. There are wonders to this world all around us. Every day.”<br><br>Thomas curled his fingers, stroking her cheek in a caress even as the hand upon her breastbone moved. Not to luridly grope at her but instead to hold the one of hers. <br><br>“And the greatest of these wonders? That a man such as myself might find a woman such as yourself.” Firm pressure upon her jawline gently applied, Thomas leaned in closer. His words became softer, slower, practically a whisper for her ears alone. “Because there is no greater wonder than falling in love.”<br><br>This kiss that fell upon her lips was lightly sweet, but lest Ariadne think him without passion it would linger and grow should she let it. There was a hunger of his own behind that kiss. A hunger for her body, undeniable given the firmness of his stiffening prick and how he came closer and closer to her with small steps until they were pressed close to another. Remarkable as how when first approaching the house he'd no intention or thought of any physical contact at all; he had simply wanted to see her, to be with her! That hunger had come upon him swiftly once he saw her. However, it was a hunger for <em>her</em> that overrode all else - Ariadne Williams, all that she was beyond mere mortal flesh. He was starved of love and companionship, of intellectual stimulation and of wild abandonment, and in Ariadne he was finding all of these things. That first kiss was just as much a promise to the woman with the dark hair and golden eyes as it was a declaration. It was a promise that he, too, was real. <br><br>And that he was hers.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>15-11-2015, 18:47:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				A small part of her mind was doing leaps and cartwheels of joy at her soon to be sweeping victory.&nbsp; He had promised her knowledge, to open the doors to a fantastical world unseen and unknown by most men and women, and together they would explore the wonders beyond the veil of reality - or so he thought.&nbsp; Little could he know that his love's motives were so very less scholastic, that she intended not explore the vast realm that his people had barely scratched the surface of, but to rip apart the foundations of that cult of murderers.&nbsp; But all that could wait.&nbsp; For now, there were far more interesting things that Ariadne was eager to explore.&nbsp; <br><br>Her mouth parted just slightly as Thomas brought his face to hers.&nbsp; He was so very gentle with her; he was still so very scared that this was nothing more than a fragile dream that might shatter if he pushed tood hard.&nbsp; It was her job to prove otherwise, and lest he think that his advances were unwanted or found unseemly, Ariadne supplied a light pressure behind the kiss, fitting the shape of her mouth perfectly to his until flesh seemed to melt and fuse as one.&nbsp; Kissing, as with all things love-making, was an art, and Ariadne was well-practiced.&nbsp; She could draw life from a man with her lips alone, and if she could, she would have sucked the very soul from Thomas Chandler to bottle and feed on for all eternity.&nbsp; Even the trace dew that past from his mouth to hers was unlike any taste she had known before, the most unique, and somehow the most infuriating.&nbsp; <br><br>Her sisters rarely sought out pleasure with a man, and when they did, there had been no real seduction preceding.&nbsp; Most lured a target with a playful tune, sated their lusts, and then sated their hungers.&nbsp; Ariadne's methods a rare, almost vulgar game, and her seduction of Thomas had been the most extreme.&nbsp; By now, even the most prim of gentlemen were shredding her bodice, but not this one.&nbsp; Warmth radiated from him, and as they held close, Ariadne felt the firm shape of his growing member pressed against her belly.&nbsp; Her breasts ached behind the cage of her corset and finery, and the spot between her legs steadily became taught with need.&nbsp; But she had since learned that, even with men seeking a lascivious lady, it was always wise to appear just slightly less experienced.&nbsp; Had the scholar ever held another woman, let alone known one intimately?<br><br>It would have been so very easy to lean forward and whisper a single note of suggestion into his ear.&nbsp; He was on the brink, and that simple nudge might have sent him into a frenzy.&nbsp; And yet, Ariadne couldn't bring herself to do it.&nbsp; She needed something more than that out of Thomas.&nbsp; So, with some reluctance, she broke their kiss, leaning her forehead against his, and breathing a contented sigh that told him that she had been waiting for that for days.&nbsp; Clasping her fingers to his, she let their entwined hands drop to their side as she softly combed his hair with her other hand.&nbsp; "There was a woman named Ariadne Williams," she began quietly, mirroring his own confession, "Who found herself in the presence of a bright and compassionate man whom she should never have deserved, and yet somehow had his love all the same, and loved him in return.&nbsp; And as she held him close, she wondered what the neighbors might think of a man calling on a single lady for so long.&nbsp; And you know what?&nbsp; She found that she did not care."&nbsp; <br><br>Cheeks tinged with the faintest of pinks, bottom lip held in her teeth, Ariadne gazed at him, expression a mixture of curiosity, bashfulness, and desire.&nbsp; "What happens next in our story, Thomas?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>15-11-2015, 20:21:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				How could he not smile as she leaned her forehead against his and gave her own accounting to match his own? His fingers gently squeezed her one hand as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of her fingers through his hair. Thomas opened his eyes again to stare into hers. What came next? That was a very good question, actually! He was not completely inexperienced in the ways of man and woman and shared intimacy, although it had been a number of years (practically since his college days!) and only a few times at that. He was positive that that was where things were rapidly heading in the here and now with Ariadne, and he was glad of it! Not just for the sake of lust and desire, but also for the sense of completion. Of rightness. <br><br>“Something rather scandalous, I imagine,” he admitted with soft humor. Another kiss, shorter but hotter, and her paramour chuckled, “but nothing to be regretted.”<br><br>The hand that he had upon her jaw moved downwards then as he continued to kiss her enticing lips. Nothing was rushed. Everything was purposeful, from how that hand slid down over her shoulder and arm to then circle around behind Ariadne and hold her close. His fingers flexed and curled against the material of her dress, right at the base of her spine. Thomas did not succumb to any sexual frenzy, tearing the cloth from her and subduing her with his sex. No, he came at her as an equal while also praising her with lips and hands. And still every motion and gesture was full of passion. It drove him like the steam of an engine, but he remained in firm control of it even as sought to unwind her in his arms. This was but a prelude, a type of foreplay! Something in him demanded that Ariadne lose control of herself completely, and then he would follow suit until they shed their pretentious, polite selves to allow their desires to run rampant. He wanted her as hungry as he felt.<br><br>Thomas was no expert lover by any means. But the sincerity and honesty of his affections made up for that. Some part of his character did not want mere relief from the pressures that were starting to wind tighter and tighter behind the base of his prick, but also wanted to ensure that his lover was just as satisfied. He wanted to make love, not merely have sex!<br><br>A rueful chuckle interrupted the one kiss, and smirking he lowered his head to kiss upon her graceful throat. The hand supporting her from behind reached up slightly, long fingers finding the lower buttons of her dress and carefully undoing them. God, how he wanted to feel her skin beneath the palm of his hand! More than that, Thomas wanted to feel her touch him! The clasped hands at their side moved, guided by him, moved inward between them until her fingers might brush the fly of his trousers. He was loath to give up the pressing heat of their bodies so close, and yet he was also driven for Ariadne to touch him and feel for herself the hardness of his cock that stood erect in tribute to her.<br><br>“Although I do expect Thomas and Ariadne to be late for their own picnic.” <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>15-11-2015, 22:44:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				His attentions were becoming more passionate now, much to the woman's delight.&nbsp; Her eyes rolled up as her lashes fluttered.&nbsp; The mere touch of a man in heat was a finer wine than Ariadne had ever tasted, and for her sisters to never take joy in this vintage was nothing short of a travesty.&nbsp; She shivered at the feeling of his lips against her tender neck and arched her back into his hands, pleasantly surprised that he would take the initiative to disrobe her.&nbsp; Perhaps she had been wrong about him this entire time.&nbsp; What other surprises did he have in store?<br><br>Ariadne had the decency to blush in full as Thomas' hand guided her own to his tented trousers and the mast beneath.&nbsp; Furious heat emanated from beneath and threatened to burst forth.&nbsp; Any less in control of her own passions, and she might have broken the zipper in an attempt to free his constricted member, but she was not so green.&nbsp; Practiced hands instead made one long, firm stroke, beginning from the base of his cock, up his navel, across his firm chest, until her fingers rested just at his throat.&nbsp; A present was not to be torn into, after all, but opened with patience, always beginning with the bow.&nbsp; Slowly, but smoothly, she freed him of his trappings, first his bowtie, letting the stiff fabric slither about his neck.&nbsp; Then, his shirt, each button popping open with deliberation.&nbsp; As she exposed the skin beneath, curious hands explored the texture and warmth, as well as the shape of this body that now belonged to her.&nbsp; Gods, but he was so thin, and yet so full of life.<br><br>One hand snaked around his back, pulling them closer together as the other hand continued its downward descent.&nbsp; Nails gently raked the surface across his spine, leaving the faintest of lines in their wake.&nbsp; Another day, another time, she might have drug talons scorss that delicious skin, drawing blood and lapping away at it in the throes of ecstasy, today was merely a sweet meeting of two lovers exploring one another for the first time, she hoped, of many.&nbsp; <br><br>With her other hand, after making him wait and suffer through teasing touches and flickers of notice, her long fingers danced about the fastenings of this trousers.&nbsp; It wasn't enough that he had given himself to her.&nbsp; She wanted him to sweat with the ache of needing her.&nbsp; When she finally released him, she would not be satisfied unless he was throbbing from the anticipation, the same anticipation that was beginning to plague her.&nbsp; Finally, her thumb and forefinger pressed against the fly, and click by click, she pulled it down.&nbsp; Unencumbered, his trousers fell away, leaving his boxers billowing outward with outline of his stiff member.&nbsp; <br><br>If he were to ask, Ariadne wouldn't lie.&nbsp; She wouldn't insult him and claim any maidenhood.&nbsp; But, she would still feel the rising warmth in her cheeks as her hands wrapped around the swollen shaft through thin cloth and stroked all the way from the base to the tip, imagining the moment that he fit himself inside her.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>16-11-2015, 03:35:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As her hand worked down, his worked up. Delicate button after button was freed as it travelled along to free her from but the first layer of confining cloth. It fell away from the curve of her shoulders to reveal more of her glorious curves, and that wandering hand slid over the smooth skin of her shoulder in admiration. His fingertips brushed along the very top of her breasts. A small purring groan rumbled in this throat as he felt Ariadne explored the contours of his chest, a sound of definite desire and want for this most captivating of women. Was he thin? Yes. But there were wiry muscles beneath, the strength of a man who did not let himself become too lax in his daily routines and was most capable than most in their capacities. <br><br>Freed from his trousers and liberated from the tight confines of its construction, Thomas could feel himself flex the stiff organ even as another hungry groan peeled out of his throat. Ariadne's grip was tight about him. He was quite sure as he kissed her over and over again that she knew what she was doing, and the scholar did his best to give every indication that he had no issue with this at all... and in fact wished to encourage her! If she was experienced, then so be it. If she knew more than he, fine! It would not take away this shared moment between them, regardless, and he was content in that.<br><br>The sleeves of her dress were gently tugged away from her arms, the garment free to fall about her hips and then to the floor to leave her in her undergarments. If he seemed daunted by the amount of cloth that still barred her body from him, it did not show. Rather, Thomas took it as a challenge to remove every stitch, bit by bit, with determined relentlessness. They continued to kiss, tasting and testing each other, as they stripped away another layer of their daily selves. The tip of his cock, its purple head stark against the white cloth of his short, left a dark and sticky smear. <br><br>God, the feel of her! The body so soft and yielding while demanding its own appetites be sated! Thomas wanted her naked, wanted to see the fullness of her young body within the pure light of the mid-afternoon so that no delusions or assumptions were made on his behalf. He yearned to be just as exposed before her, for Ariadne to see all that he was. <br><br>Was it her that guided them step by step towards the low couch within her rooms? Or was it his own cunning that backed her in that direction, leaving a short trail of their clothing in their wake?&nbsp; As she had said earlier, it didn't matter. Not really. How could it when her hands danced such miracles across his naked flesh, and his own limbs held her fast against him as he sampled the delights of her tender hollows and curves?&nbsp; Gone was her bra and chemise and knickers and all that she wore beneath that fine dress that now laid somewhere behind them. So, too, were his boxers. His prick stood quivering and ready for her touch, throbbing in time with his heartbeat and his need for her. <br><br>Still standing, the lip of the couch just inches away, Thomas bent his head and laid kisses upon her breasts, a tongue flickering out to catch just the very tip of a nipple to make it taut with want. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>16-11-2015, 16:35:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There was nothing quite so gratifying as being desired so completely by a man and for that desire to translate into every action, every deliberate gesture.&nbsp; His caresses were offerings of worship that would have satisfied Aphrodite herself.&nbsp; Her body responded in kind, with cat-like fluidity, she arched and curled, exposing every inch of herself to his care.&nbsp; Sparks of electricity danced across her supple skin, brought to life by his devotion.<br><br>As the last vestiges of their genteel pretense were stripped away, Ariadne found herself with an irrational and unshakeable wish for Thomas to find her fair.&nbsp; It was not a shy self-conciousness; she knew full well that she was beautiful.&nbsp; Yet she wanted to know that when Thomas died, he would believe with all his heart that he could shuffle off this mortal coil, having made love to the most radiant creature on this earth.&nbsp; Some sane part of her wondered at herself.&nbsp; Had she always been so vain, or was this his doing?<br><br>Now, standing before one another in the buff, Ariadne's eyes traveled along the bold shape of this man who had been frenetic and hesitant while clad in society's trappings, and she found herself again wanting to launch herself at him, ravaging him as she claimed his being as a sacrifice to her hunger.&nbsp; The sensation of his hot, moist mouth against a tender breast did nothing to quell her cravings.&nbsp; Instinctively, her hands snatched out to grasp his shoulders, and sheer will alone kept her from sinking her nails into his soft flesh, though in several hours, there might have been bruises with her fingerprints.&nbsp; Gods, when had mere touches alone done so much to set her sense alight?&nbsp; And still she wanted more!<br><br>Ariadne was the stronger of the pair by far, and she made no show of hiding it.&nbsp; Hands still clutching tightly to his upper arms, she urged him down toward the couch, lavishing his mouth, his face, and his neck with nipping kisses as she straddled his hips and ground her burning sex against his, soaking his length.&nbsp; His bulbous tip passed over her slit, extracting more of her slick juices and eliciting soft mewls and gasping puffs of breath, but lest he think that it would come so quickly to the penultimate, and lest he think that she would remain idle in all this, she suddenly slid to her knees to the floor before him.&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br>Standing at attention, his cock seemed to salute her.&nbsp; How could she not repay such a compliment?&nbsp; A mischievous twinkle in her eye, she licked her lips, captured the organ in her mouth, and glanced up in a way that seemed to say, <em>"I will stop if you wish, but only when you beg."</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>18-11-2015, 03:38:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br>If Thomas was at all surprised by her sudden show of strength, he didn't show it. He was too wrapped up in the moment, too lost to sensations and the feeling that anything was possible in Ariadne's apartment to care. If anything, Thomas interpreted it as part of her own hungers and lusts giving power to her limbs. His hand found her hips to pull her body against his all the more as she slid her wetness along his shaft, and he did think the moment was nigh where she would wiggle up and then back just that much more to allow him a slow and sensuous thrust into her wanting pussy. The sight of her face as he pushed into her, spreading her walls and stuffing her completely as she gaped and gasped?&nbsp; Thomas wanted to see that visage and hear those sounds so much that it was maddening!<br><br>So it came as a shock when Ariadne instead flowed downwards across his body and to her knees. His cock felt every heated curve and soft swelling of her belly and breasts as she went down, and the face of the scholar was the very visage of disappointed bewilderment as he looked at her sitting there before him. Such denial! It showed in his eyes! How Thomas wanted to touch her, to feel her flesh beneath his hands even as she touched him!&nbsp; Ariadne's change of position made that difficult at best.<br><br>Disappointment and yet... There was something about seeing the beautiful woman with the dark tresses and golden eyes looking up at him from where she knelt. Thomas could see her breasts, perfect breasts in his opinion, perfect in size and fullness. His gaze went on past the shadow of her cleavage, noting how gloriously waist went to hip went to curve of buttock went to thigh, and were it possible his prick would have become all the more erect. As it was, his cock quivered and bobbed for her.<br><br>When she licked her lips and took him into her mouth, however, his eyes rolled up and his head fell back against the couch as he was overwhelmed with the feel of her lips around him. A low groan escaped his throat. It was with jerky motions and gasping breath that he forced his head down again to gaze upon her, naked upon her knees as she looked back at him with an expression of self-assured mischief. Thomas swallowed and nodded his understanding. <br><br>He'd never experienced what was referred to as oral congress before, but as a learned man his studies had lead him to read through a great number of books. Some of those texts, often of Eastern flavor, were quite explicit. Risque. Some might say obscene, but he had never thought so. Nor, however, had he ever thought he might sample some of those delightfully graphic delights, and there with Ariadne committing herself to him in “the French style”, Thomas began to wonder what other acts that were taboo in Western society they might indulge in. If nothing else, what was good for the goose...<br><br>Thomas reached out a trembling hand towards her face, not to lay it flat upon her skull like some commanding master but instead to brush away a lock of that lustrous hair from her gorgeous, fair face. Just as much as he wanted to see her face when the moment came, he wanted to watch as she bobbed and sucked upon him until he himself was near to a wreck.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>18-11-2015, 22:54:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The sound of sweet groans and gasping breaths were a melody all their own that aroused Ariadne as well as any song she might have sung for a beau.&nbsp; The sight of him struggling to maintain control over his faculties was reward enough for her efforts, but that alone would not bring her satisfaction.&nbsp; She wanted him writhing beneath her practiced fingers, pleading with his entire body to either be given release or to be set free so that he might torture her in turn.&nbsp; To that end, she set to about her task.<br><br>His taut, silky skin felt impossibly smooth against her tongue.&nbsp; Luxuriously slow, she worked her head up and down&nbsp; his shaft, coming all the way to the tip until her lips barely kissed the head, only to return, his cock disappearing into her mouth until she could feel him touching the back of her throat.&nbsp; Warmth from his quivering member suffused across her cheeks, fusing flesh to flesh as she sucked and lapped, wrapping her tongue about him and painting his full length with her saliva.&nbsp; <br><br>As her tempo steadily increased, she wrapped one hand around his cock and squeezed - not so tight as to cause any pain, but firm enough to give him something extra to think about.&nbsp; With long strokes, she pumped him as if to draw out more of those delicious groans that were music to her ears.&nbsp; Adding to her symphony, her other hand raked and massaged his lean legs, teasing lanes along the inside of his thighs until her hands found a firm buttock and squeezed.&nbsp; <br><br>This wasn't the behavior of a proper woman.&nbsp; With anyone else, she would have merely been some wanton slut defiling herself as she pleased her master, his hot throbbing pecker bobbing about until he spent his seed into her dirty little mouth.&nbsp; Thomas wouldn't see it that way, though.&nbsp; The tender caress of his hand against her cheek told her just that.&nbsp; Just as she had revealed this side of herself to him, he had responded in kind, an intimate secret betwixt the pair, and in that way, this was the most erotic thing she had ever experienced.&nbsp; How else could she explain the glistening trail that had begun soaking the dark tuft between her legs?<br><br>And all the while, she held his gaze.&nbsp; Golden orbs watched intently as she sucked and stroked his now pulsing manhood, its veins bulging along her tongue.&nbsp; She wanted to watch his every reaction - each gasp, each shudder, each tiny gesture that said the he was losing himself to her.&nbsp; &nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>21-11-2015, 05:49:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				If ever the differences between knowledge and experience had been more clearly outlined for Thomas, he could not recall it. Not that he was able to recall or think on much at that moment, for Ariadne had him in the grips of such torturous bliss that his towering intellect was of little use to the scholar. Words failed him as her lips and versatile tongue expertly worked his prick. How would he ever be able to explain that sensation?! His body simultaneously felt as though it were melting like ice beneath the summer's heat and turning to hard, brittle iron, but the mind?&nbsp; It remained connected only by dint of his will. Thomas wanted to, needed to, be present for all of what she gifted him with.<br><br>And that was just with her mouth! When her delicate hand gripped his shaft and began to pump in time with her sucklings, when its mate slid beneath him to cup and grip the one cheek of his rump, Thomas writhed in exquisite longing. He was all too aware of how Ariadne watched him. It made it all the more erotic for him to see the triumph in her face as his hips fought to buck and roll and as his expression twisted in ecstasy while she manipulated him closer and closer to mind numbing passion. He could make out the hunger there, too. The very act was riling her own lusts up, and if her eyes did not reveal it properly then the stiffness of her nipples helped to underline her building heat. It made Thomas glad to see it. The position he was in allowed him little options, and he was glad that he could give her that much delight simply by accepting.<br><br>For a man who had not felt the intimate touch of a woman in such a very long time, Thomas managed to last surprisingly long in comparison. Two minutes, almost three, and his moans were becoming cries as restless legs twitched and stretched helplessly against that onslaught. The pressure was mounting fiercely in the very base of his sex; his testicles felt hot and tight, and his cock throbbed in her mouth as she took him tip to hilt and back again as her hand expertly milked him.<br><br>“Ariadne,” he whimpered, eyes closed.<br><br>At the last, he forced his eyes opened to stare up at the ceiling. Thomas knew he could hold no longer, and yet a desperate desire to not let it end gave him the will to clench for those few crucial seconds.”<br><br>“Not yet... <em>Please</em>, Ariadne... Not yet... Don't... Don't let me... I don't want to stop this, not yet... <em>Please!</em>”&nbsp; Again, his gaze went to her face, and a pathetic moan at the sight of those golden eyes watching him over his sucked dick issued forth. No, as so very close as he was to climaxing, Thomas did not want release yet. He truly wanted this to be a moment for them to share and remember, and he needed to be on the edge to keep going for as long as they possibly could. Only what to do?&nbsp; How to proceed? How to repay her with that same mindless pleasure?<br><br>Reaching out with fingers numb and shaking, he caressed her cheek again. “Ariadne... Please?&nbsp; Please show me?&nbsp; Please, let me... Let me try?”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>23-11-2015, 03:20:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Years ago, whilst aboard a merchant vessel touring the Orient, Ariadne had learned from a rather talented companion the art of pleasuring a gentleman, including the ever valuable ability of bringing one to an almost instantaneous climax.&nbsp; &nbsp;With skilled enough hands, one could easily have the burliest, heartiest of men, back arched in a near perfect circle moaning with their release.&nbsp; Oh, it had its uses, of course, sometimes to impress, or particularly to quickly pass evenings when the woman had no patience for an oaf she may have foolishly brought to her quarters.&nbsp; None of these applied to Thomas Chandler, though.&nbsp; If she could have kept him on the brink for all of eternity, it would have given her no greater joy than to build that crescendoing pleasure and deny him release.<br><br>However, time was not infinite, nor was Thomas' stamina, though Ariadne was pleasantly surprised to find him lasting as long as he had.&nbsp; Her mouth curled into a dangerous smile, and for a very long moment, she considered the idea of simply <em>not</em> stopping.&nbsp; What if she continued to pump his thick, pulsing cock? How long could he contain himself until he burst from the ecstasy?&nbsp; Wickedly, she wondered - how might she punish him if he could not last until she was satisfied with ministrations?<br><br>Alas - she was a woman of her word, and she had indeed promised to stop when he finally begged.&nbsp; With one last slow stroke, Ariadne receded from the hilt.&nbsp; Her mouth held in a tight O around him until she finally released him with an audible pop.&nbsp; By the gods above, any and all who had not abanonded her, he was a beautiful sight.&nbsp; Ragged breaths punctuated fragments of a sentence written by his twitching prick, now dark purple and veinous from her aggressive fellating.&nbsp; Part of her wanted nothing more than to straddle his hips once more as she lowered her now moist nether lips around his shaft and let him stretch her wide as she rode him.&nbsp; That was not what he was asking her for, though, much as he might enjoy it himself.&nbsp; Strangely, she was happy to oblige him.<br><br>Ariadne rose, her curvaceous body exuding sensuality in even so simple an act.&nbsp; Her eyes remained on him as she stood, and she beckoned him to rise with her.&nbsp; Leaning forward, she drew him into a kiss, letting him taste the faint traces of his salty secretions on her tongue as she led them in a small circle until they had switched places.&nbsp; Then, reclining into the sofa, she placed a gentle hand on the back of his neck while she held open her dark, pink, wet lips for his examination.&nbsp; <br><br>Her voice was soft and nurturing, as if she were his school marm.&nbsp; "Do you see my little nub?"&nbsp; Beneath the folds of skin, her clit seemed to twitch in anticipation.&nbsp; "Go ahead, love.&nbsp; Use your tongue."&nbsp; &nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>24-11-2015, 03:40:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He ached! Christ above, he ached! Ariadne had brought him so close to that precipice, skirting the very edges of that final ascension to climax, that to stop so immediately was outright uncomfortable. Thomas could practically feel his own manhood bob in complaint! Yet it had been at his insistence. His prick remained as hard then as it had in her mouth, waiting and wanting for the heat of her body all the while. That discomfort and the promise of a more intense release sustained him.<br><br>Ariadne drew him to his feet and kissed him. Thomas thought nothing of the salt taste. He barely realized that she was maneuvering him around to change places, guiding him down to his knees between her legs. The scholar stared up along her body into those golden eyes, his own wide with excitement and nervousness. He'd never done this sort of thing before. Read about it, yes, dreamed about it, of course. But to actually do it?&nbsp; He wondered if he looked as both frightened and eager to Ariadne as she gazed calmly back at him as he felt looking up at her.<br><br>Her hand was drawing him closer then, and his gaze dropped to the glistening tuft of curled fur between her legs. Ariadne's voice, that voice that he found so very hard to resist, gave him the simplest of instructions to follow, and licking his lips in nervous anticipation, he obeyed.<br><br>It might have been his inexperience making those first forays so very tentative. Thomas breathed in the thick scent of her, sighing and shuddering, before extending the very tip of his tongue to lick at her. Some instinct or forgotten tidbit of his readings kept him from lapping at her like some dog, but instead carefully explored the hardness of that slippery nub. The taste was... <em>nothing</em> like anything else he'd ever experienced! It was raw and slick and earthy, yet at the same time there was something flowery about it, a quality that was wholly and uniquely Ariadne. It minded him of the scent of her hair and the taste of her skin, but concentrated. Pungent. And it made him sigh again and lean in closer.<br><br>Thomas followed her earlier lead. One hand slid beneath her rear to squeeze and caress her flesh as his tongue worked to find what excited her most. In fact, he allowed his mouth to investigate other portions of her sex now and then, unintentionally teasing her with denial as he experimented with sucking along her mons, nuzzling the folds of her lips with his nose and hot breath, kissing the insides of her thighs.&nbsp; His inventiveness did not stop there, however. While Ariadne had used her other hand to steady herself, Thomas let his glide up her belly to then cup a breast. Idly his thumb ran across its nipple as he ventured further into orally pleasing her. <br><br>The more he explored and the more favor she showed, the more heated he became! His prick had been aching before when denied, but now?&nbsp; Now it positively <em>throbbed</em>! It excited him sexually more than he would ever have known to do this for her, to repay her in the same manner as she had gifted him! It was not long before his tentative and teasing licks became fervent mouthings upon her bud. Emboldened, Thomas latched onto her like a nursing babe. Nothing about how his tongue thrashed along its target or how his hands kneaded her soft flesh resembled anything a child might do however, and a hard desire rapidly began to turn to animalistic need. The hand cupping her bottom shifted ever so much, and his thumb stretched upwards just enough to play about the entrance to her pussy. Thomas was losing control even as he pleasured her, and his earnest desire was to see her lose it right along with him until she did something about it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>25-11-2015, 03:40:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The first experimental flicks of his tongue tickled so much so that Ariadne couldn't help but stifle a giggle.&nbsp; But lest her dauntless student be discouraged by the sound, she swiftly moved to reassure him, running her long fingers through his wild hair.&nbsp; "Please, darling, don't-" <br><br>Her breath hitched in her throat as he found his rhythm.&nbsp; The heat of his mouth exploring around her most sacred of places set her trembling with prickles of pleasure, and her eyes fluttered as they rolled upward.&nbsp; Where she had anticipated that he might remain cautious and hesitant in his new undertaking, he had vastly exceeded all expectations, putting her at something of a startling disadvantage.&nbsp; She had not guarded herself against this incursion; she had not thougt it necessary.&nbsp; But now, as his hands danced along her supple mounds, Ariadne drifted into an unfamiliar euphoria.&nbsp; <br><br>A trickle of milky liquid leaked from her slit and dripped into Thomas' waitng mouth, which was only one of the many signs that the woman was beginning to lose herself to his ever bolder touches.&nbsp; The hand atop his head now fondled with greater fervor, nails raking his scalp to urge him on.&nbsp; Her other hand gripped the edge of a cushion, kneading it in time with the slow gyration of her hips.&nbsp; She bit down on her lip, but even that did not bar the low, husky moans that she nearly sang out like a prayer.&nbsp; Her sex burned with desire for him - to be caressed, to be suckled, but most of all, to be claimed.<br><br>As his thumb found her slick, wet folds, Ariadne's hips bucked forward, threatening to take off his head.&nbsp; When had he learned to tease and toy with a woman so?&nbsp; The tip of his finger played along the edge of her entrance, drawing forth even more of her juices from her aching pussy.&nbsp; She wanted to push him on the floor and ride him - she was worse than a cat in heat, and yet she didn't want him to stop.&nbsp; Below, his fierce gaze did as fine a job arousing her as ever his remarkably talented tongue could.&nbsp; Dare she let him continue?&nbsp; Dare she let him control her pleasure?&nbsp; It was becoming harder to think straight, harder to consider the consequences, harder to...<br><br>"Oh, gods above, Thomas," she groaned as she felt her womanhood quiver.&nbsp; Her fingers strained not to grasp a fistful of hair.&nbsp; "Please... I'm sorry... I can't wait any longer... I need... I need you..."&nbsp; She sat upright, looming over his crouched figure.&nbsp; Both her hands fell to his shoulders as she pressed him downward toward the floor until her legs again straddled his.&nbsp; Wet from a mixture of his saliva and her own liquids, her lower lips slid easily along his hard length as she ground her hips into his and whimpered - she of all people actually <em>whimpered</em> - with need.&nbsp; <br><br>One last time, her swollen entrance met with the thick head of his cock, and for a moment, reason returned.&nbsp; A trembling hand reached behind and grasped his hot, pulsating shaft as she positioned him just barely pressing against her opening.&nbsp; Her brow furrowed, her entire countenance a question mark, now.&nbsp; <br><br><em>Is this what you want?</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>27-11-2015, 16:03:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Ariadne was stronger than he would have given her credit for, or at the least eager enough that her passions gave strength to her limbs as she carried Thomas down to the rugged floor and straddled him. Her words more than her actions kept him from asking if he was doing it right. The way she trembled and whimpered for him...for him! Thomas was just as eager. Using his mouth upon her had unlocked another part of his libido he would never have guessed at otherwise, and his hands immediately went to her hips to grind back against her wetness. Gasps of indescribable delight erupted from his throat as she slid along his prick. God, but he wanted to be inside of her! To feel her squirm and bounce atop of him! There was nothing in this life that the scholar could ever recall physically craving more than the sensation of Ariadne mounting and riding him until they were both spent.<br><br>Then it struck. The proverbial eye of the storm. Their lusts had swept upon them to become more intense with each passing wind that howled from their souls, raging passions tearing at them as the hurricane reached its height. But there, at the center of it, that one single moment of calm. It could not have come about by design, only chance or fate, but they shared it. Thomas could see Ariadne's question upon her face, an inquiry with so many meanings as the hand behind her stroked and quivered his ready cock in preparation for the most un-reversible of acts. Instinct demands that he buck his hips upwards. Everything in the development and survival of the human race told his body that it should simply push and be done with it.<br><br>Thomas held. He returned that look, measure for measure, and Ariadne would be able to see in his eyes both the determination and the gentility of his soul.<br><br>There was no protection, no magical pill to prevent contraception. There were other methods, of course. Clumsy, ill-fitting methods that were no real guarantee even if Thomas and Ariadne had them handy to start with. Abstinence remained, although it was no real option. They both wanted this. Why else had she so firmly grabbed his shaft to guide it?&nbsp; Why else had he accepted her upon his lap? Thomas was well aware there could be consequences, very long term consequences should life take hold, and he took her expression as her acknowledging that possibility and wishing to make sure he did as well.<br><br>And he did. Thomas was nothing if not an honorable man. And for all that they had only known one another for a handful of days, he found in his heart that he would welcome such an outcome with Ariadne.<br><br>Laid out upon the floor with her heated wait straddling him, Thomas reached up to once more caress her lovely cheek. He admired the flush of her face and the brightness of her eyes. Then, very slowly so that she would not mistake either the gesture or the meaning, he nodded his head. No words. Words would have been a lie, he knew, quickly spoken promises that any lover could have tossed out in selfish need. The body did not lie. Nor did Thomas. <br><br>The hand that remained upon the swell of her hip slid to the very top of her thigh. Thomas pushed down, the webbing of thumb and forefinger pressing tightly into the crease where her hip met pelvis, and with a firm but glacial slowness he began to push Ariadne down onto his pulsing cock. She would feel every inch of him as the rigid hardness spread apart the slick velvet walls of her channel. He took his time. While his body shuddered with pleasure and a low groan echoed from behind teeth clenched with pleasure, not once did Thomas take his eyes from her. Not until he was sunk to the hilt, a process during which he watched every movement of her luscious form, did he start to let go once more. Whether it was over quick or whether they took all afternoon, he did not care. For as he freely gave himself to his Ariadne, Thomas also claimed her for his own.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>01-12-2015, 22:19:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As Thomas guided Ariadne downward, the slick petals of her labia spread wide to accommodate his girth.&nbsp; At first, her channel clamped tight, as if to resist intrusion.&nbsp; Sliding his shaft along her silken walls, it would become clear that she was more than eager to accept him within.&nbsp; How greedily might she have sucked him in if only he would give her the opportunity?&nbsp; Yet, his leisurely pace offered her something entirely new - the chance to experience the feeling of being filled.&nbsp; &nbsp;Every inch, every second, every minute motion sent a wave of delight washing over her.&nbsp; And when she was firmly coupled, her hips saddled against his, she sighed with contentment.&nbsp; She felt more than full; she felt... whole.&nbsp; For a moment, she merely sat in silent stillness, relishing the simple knowledge that they had become one body.<br><br>And then, she moved.<br><br>Her hands slipped to his slender waist to support herself as she slowly raised her hips, revealing his member now thoroughly coated in her juices.&nbsp; Her sex fought the journey, her walls clenching and wrapping around his cock in a hungry protest, but still she rose.&nbsp; Higher, higher, until she was nearly to the tip, the flare of his head threatening to pop out.&nbsp; In one swift motion, she plunged down, driving his full length into her waiting pussy as she moaned aloud at the exquisite friction.&nbsp; Again, she rose languidly, releasing his prick from her grasp until she was at his tip, only to thrust her hips into his.&nbsp; <br><br>The cycle was slow and deliberate, at first.&nbsp; She was in no rush to end this delirium, and she would, quite literally, milk Thomas for all he had to offer.&nbsp; Half the excitement came from exerting control over his pleasure, even at the expense of her own, and it had been ages since she could truly say that she felt satisfied with a partner, despite the gap in know-how.&nbsp; Was it his schoolboy enthusiasm to please?&nbsp; No, there had been at least a handful just as keen.&nbsp; Perhaps it had been the contrast of the scholar to this passionate creature.&nbsp; But no; that may have intrigued her, but it would not sustain this kind of desire.<br><br>Soon, however, rational thought faded away, and contemplation turned to primal lust.&nbsp; Ariadne's methodical routine devolved as the painfully slow teasing quickened, the intervals between thrusts becoming shorter and shorter until she was fairly bouncing along his length, panting and mewling to signal her pleasure, moaning softly to reveal the ache of her burning need for release. Had she been capable of thinking straight, she might have wondered why he seemed to fit so well inside of her, or why she had suddenly become so very bent on pushing him to the edge of ecstasy, when all she had known before was fooling men into believing that it was they who owned her.&nbsp; <br><br>And then, unbidden, the words spilled forth.&nbsp; "Mark me," she begged. Her cheeks were flushed, her body on fire.&nbsp; Desperate hands clutched his sides, claw-like nails beginning to dig into his tender flesh.&nbsp; She could feel her walls tightening fast about his thick column.&nbsp; "Please," she whimpered, her voice an urgent whisper.&nbsp; Her ancestors would be turning in their graves if they could see this pathetic display, but gods above, she did not care.&nbsp; At this moment, she felt divine.&nbsp; "Make me your woman, Thomas," she groaned heatedly as she ground her hips into his.&nbsp; "Make me yours."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>04-12-2015, 16:29:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Ariadne gave as got as she got, it seemed, for just as glacially slow as he penetrated into her she rose off of him; Thomas could feel the rim of his cock's head dragging reluctantly against the tight walls of her sex as she clenched around him. A definite gasp escaped his lips when his lover plunged down to take him inside of her body again. And another when she repeated the process. It was a slow and delicious torture. Thomas didn't care for whatever gaps their might be in their experiences in that moment, for she rode him so expertly that his body followed without thinking or questioning. He would have seen in her eyes when methodical cunning turned to bestial passions had he not been undergoing the same transformation beneath her. The moans she gave and the sight of her breasts bouncing as she milked him faster and faster brought her lover just as close to his own orgasm as the feel of her wet cunt around his cock did. <br><br>As he lay beneath her, thrusting upwards with his hips instinctively to meet her falling, Thomas was overcome with a vision. He could see Ariadne in a different light, just for a split second. So easy to imagine her smiling at him with a swollen belly and firm, milky breasts! How fulfilling to envision her happily carrying his child...<em>their</em> child...&nbsp; Long ago, he had given up any fantasies or dreams of having a family of his own, even before he understood that his infatuation with Emma Winters was a pointless hope. And yet this woman, Ariadne Williams, a woman he'd known only a handful of days, he could picture her as the mother of his child.<br><br>Never would he have imagined that the gods had such a sense of humor as this. <br><br>It made him lose the last of his reason and buck all the harder up into her. Thomas left his one hand where it was upon her thigh to ensure she did not bounce off of him completely, to keep himself imbedded within her and not slip out. The other?&nbsp; That other hand slipped from her cheek down along the curves of her throat to cup a breast. He massaged and squeezed it, groping her even as his fingers tweaked the nipple to spur her on to great abandonment. <br><br>And then she called to him. She begged and whimpered and groaned for him even as he distantly felt the tips of her fingers break the surface of his flesh to draw blood. There was no hesitation. Thomas locked eyes with her as he rose half sitting beneath her, and the fire in those storm cloud eyes were more intense than they ever had been in his life. He would mark her. He would claim Ariadne as his woman, as his mate, as his wife, and (most importantly to his own soul) as the woman he had so very quickly come to love. Twice his tongue flickered out to lash the nipple in her grasped breast, last moment teasings of pleasure before he leaned in to bite along the inside of her breast, just near the rose of her areola. The pressure of his teeth sinking into her sweet flesh was slow at first but grew as they both approached their peaks. The bitten area was crushed and sucked at the same time to latter leave dark purple crescents upon the pale skin of her flesh, a reddish blotch between them where he had suckled so hard as to draw blood near the surface in a rich bruise. Pain and pleasure wound themselves together as she clawed into him and he fastened onto her. She would be able to look down at it when she dressed for quite some times and remember that it was he who had claimed her.<br><br>Thomas felt Ariadne start to twitch violently around his cock, and the organ in question began to respond in turn. He clenched, held off. If the magic of the moment, whatever that magic was, was to fulfill its purpose, then it had to be as close to mutual as possible. When twitching became convulsing and the moment was upon them, only then did her lover surrender himself to her. The sounds and smells and sensations of her own climax made his all the more intense. Thomas arched up hard into her at the last, pressing in as far as he might go until she rose up into the air upon him while his hips jerked of their own accord. The pressure behind his core burst hard. He actually cried out as if in pain as the ecstasy swept over him. Falling back, eyes rolling up, rope after rope of his seed fired out of him with what felt like all the intensity of rifle shots, through his thick member and into her, hot and sticky to fill Ariadne. <br><br>And if his final cry as he fell back upon the floor, breathless and numb, sounded like the drawn out wail of her name, a sound made up of pleas and commands and lust and love all rolled into one? Then it was no coincidence. Nor was it regretted. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>09-12-2015, 02:24:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There was something wickedly delightful about seeing the bookish scholar lying beneath her, wildly pistoning in and out of her.&nbsp; In a way, she was just as aroused by his deep thrusts as she was by the knowledge that this secret persona belonged to her.&nbsp; Pride said that she had been responsible for this transformation, though a part of her knew that she had only been a small catalyst; nothing of Thomas had changed, except perhaps that he was being more true to himself.&nbsp; This was the Thomas that was waiting to be loosed, and there was nothing surprising about the matter.&nbsp; Even so, Ariadne was caught off guard the moment that he rose, fierce hunger and desire shining in those tempestuous orbs, and pressed his mouth to her tender breast to fulfill her lust-crazed wish.&nbsp; As he bit down, her head reeled backwards, a torrent of sharp, sweet pain shooting through her chest, searing its way to her very core.&nbsp; Gods, yes, how she had wanted this.&nbsp; Hands wrapped around his back as nails dug into his shoulders. Tomorrow, his red-lined flesh would be fit to be hung alongside chef d'oeuvres of minimalist paintings.&nbsp; <br><br>Tomorrow.&nbsp; What an ugly thought to have during such a coupling as unrestrainedly carnal and carefree as theirs.&nbsp; Tomorrow might bring all manner of nasties or niceties.&nbsp; Who knew what kind of trouble might come of their rather improper behavior?&nbsp; The floors were not so thick as to block out the thud of Thomas' bare bottom slamming against the wood.&nbsp; Mr. Marsters might not say anything, but Captain Denny was less tactful.&nbsp; And there were other things to think of.&nbsp; If Ariadne had been a mind reader and peered into Thomas' thoughts just then, she might have had a few choice words concerning a woman such as her bearing something quite so cumbersome as a circle of gold about her fingers, among other things.<br><br>Of course, those were only things that a woman might have been thinking, had she been possessed of a clear mind.&nbsp; The good Miss Williams would surely wonder about such trivial matters, but Ariadne, with her dripping slit gliding along her lover's thick, solid piece, cared nothing for what tomorrow might bring.&nbsp; Let this be what it would be.&nbsp; <br><br>And soon, she could feel it.&nbsp; The overwhelming torrent of pleasure that seemed to crash against an invisible dam within her.&nbsp; Wave after wave assaulted her, driving her to an even greater frenzy.&nbsp; Thomas seemed to sense it as well, and his body responded in kind.&nbsp; Every thrust lifted her into the air and brought about an indescribably wonderful friction inside her velvet channel, further compounding the building forces within.&nbsp; The sound of their love-making echoed throughout her small quarters - from her ass slapping his thighs as her sopping pussy squelched in the most unbecoming way to their animal-like moans and grunts.&nbsp; Everything came together to enliven her senses.&nbsp; Her walls clenched almost unbearably tight as she eked out everything Thomas had to give until...until...<br><br>Her back made a perfect arch as she threw her head back to unearth a deafening cry.&nbsp; The dam within broke hard and fast, unleashing her climax to wreak havoc upon her lithe frame.&nbsp; Every molecule of her body shuddered uncontrollably.&nbsp; Her insides quaked as her pussy made every effort to continue stroking Thomas' member until he broke as well, his hot seed shooting inside of her and soaking into her waiting womb.&nbsp; The twitch of his cock against her made her orgasm all the more intense, and she rode hard against him for as long as they both might last.&nbsp; Only when she felt their mutual climax subside did she finally let her frame begin to slump.&nbsp; &nbsp;Her breath came in long, laboured gasps; she was practically gulping down air, and her plump breasts heaved with each breath.&nbsp; <br><br>And as the calm returned, in one last tribute, Ariadne laid a hand at the place where she and Thomas were still joined, his member gently fluttering inside her.&nbsp; Her fingers stroked the milky liquid that leaked from her.&nbsp; She lifted her hand to her lips and tasted of the heady mixture.&nbsp; It was salty and lightly sweet, and it made her still-warm belly tingle with the afterglow of their passion.&nbsp; Yes, she thought as her hand brushed against the dark, tender twin crescents at her bosom.&nbsp; Yes, he had well and truly marked her, branding her with his mouth, and breeding her with his seed.&nbsp; &nbsp;No man had truly ever gone so far; no man had ever been allowed.&nbsp; But Thomas?&nbsp; He had been given the privilege in an unspoken exchange, though what he had offered in return, he would likely soon regret.<br><br>But that was a matter that fell within the ugly purview of "tomorrow."&nbsp; Let this be what it would be, and as Ariadne thought that, she lowered herself down to him, planting a soft kiss on his lips before laying her head on his chest.&nbsp; Should she speak?&nbsp; Should she wax poetic about their joining?&nbsp; But his heartbeat against her ear lulled her into a quiet that she had no desire to break.&nbsp; His heart pounded like a war drum, and though its rhythm was gradually slowing, she couldn't help but wonder how the muscular organ might taste, freshly plucked from his rib cage.&nbsp; <br><br>No, no.&nbsp; Let her not ruin this tranquility with her dark needs.&nbsp; Such trials would be dealt with another day.&nbsp; Instead, her hand found his, fingers interlacing, and for a moment, she hoped that tomorrow never came.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>11-12-2015, 17:44:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Thomas partially blacked out for a moment, time skipping past him as he lay upon the floor with Ariadne straddling him. He felt more than saw or heard anything: felt her weight, the slickness of her thighs, the sharp nails of her fingers trailing over him, the walls of her sex still convulsing as though petulantly refusing to believe there was nothing left within him to give.&nbsp; His own limbs were curiously numb. There was no feeling, yet, to the markings she had left upon his ribs and back. But his eyes did still ring with the shriek of her climax, and Thomas's vision returned to him just in time to see her deliberately wet her fingers with their mixed offers and sample it as though it were the most delectable of nectars. Strength had left him for the moment; in the weakness of the afterglow, her lover smiled gently to see her do so. <br><br>He took that kiss tenderly and returned it just as softly, tasting himself upon her lips with the addition of her own juices once more. When Ariadne laid her head upon his breast and relaxed into him, Thomas found the will to raise the unclaimed hand and run it up and down along her sweaty back in a gesture meant to both comfort and grants some small respite from the chill of cooling perspiration.&nbsp; Hard as the floor was upon his back, the scholar could easily have fallen asleep there in perfect contentment with Ariadne.<br><br>Tomorrow was tomorrow. Whatever happened, they would deal with it. He'd never been a man who cared much for public opinion anyway. And should nature takes its immediate course?&nbsp; Should Ariadne bear a child from this sudden, unexpected tryst?&nbsp; Thomas Chandler would stand by her in whatever way she might let him do so; he knew the one way he might like to, but that was a thing too many tomorrows away to even bother considering in the cozy silence.<br><br>How long they laid upon the floor, Thomas could not have guessed. He thought he could hear other noises, such as the street life outside and the distant roar of the ocean, but they were paid no attention. Laying there with his member going flaccid inside of her, the only thing Thomas wished to be away of her was how soft her body was upon his and the delightful scent of her hair and sex in his nose.<br><br>Eventually, he craned his neck to kiss the crown of her head sweetly, nuzzling then while the hand that held hers gave a gentle squeeze. The lacerations upon his back began to sting; sweat was seeping into the scratches and slices she had marked him with... Marked him as hers, just as he had marked her. The thought made him smile in quiet delight. He'd never claimed a woman like that before. Had never been claimed himself! And there was nothing in Ariadne's cries and demands that told him this was a one time thing, a mistake of passion. Content beyond words, satisfied and sated to the point where he could say he was truly happy, Thomas murmured a truth to Ariadne:<br><br>“I have never felt more alive, Ariadne,” he whispered to her, “than when I am with you.”<br><br>Too soon for declarations of love, far too soon for proposals of marriage much as he might wish otherwise! But that simple truth was hers. If only he knew how ironic that truth was.<br><br>Gently, he coaxed Ariadne upright to sit upon him once more. He let his eyes rove over her body, shiny with sweat and cum. Her hair was disheveled, she was naked to the sunlight streaming into the windows, the mark he'd left upon her bosom was beginning to glow an angry red, turning to purple... And never had he found a woman to look so enchanting. Thomas remained soft inside of her as he let his eyes feast upon her, but those stormy orbs settled finally not upon breast or tit or thigh or hip, but upon her face and the golden eyes that warmed him so. The fingers of his other hand reached out then, knotting themselves in hers so that they held both of each other's hands between them. A broad grin creased his face as he realized how much he wanted to hear this dark-haired beauty laugh out loud.<br><br>“So forgive my ignorance, but what sort of wine goes best with this kind of meal? Red or white?”<br><br>His visage went somber again, and Thomas bit his lower lip as he took in the sight of her. Such a strange dichotomy it must have seemed to Ariadne! At one point the passionate lover claiming what was his, the next the bashful schoolboy-scholar looking for approval and worth in her eyes. How was he to convey the myriad of notions that suddenly flooded his brain in that moment?&nbsp; And it was in gentle voice that could not have feigned sincerity in the least that Thomas offered up what he hoped was an understanding between them.<br><br>“I am... an honorable man, Ariadne.” He let that statement hang in the air for her to parse through. Thomas hoped she would comprehend all that he could not bring himself to say immediately. Whatever their fate and whatever she decided, he would abide by her choices. That she had awed him. And that this was all so very new to him, to have a woman want him so and to desire her in equal measures. Had the late Emma Winters deigned to take a much closer look at Thomas Chandler, she might have found a man more her liking beneath that bookish exterior. That man was now Ariadne's. He was confused, but in those golden eyes he trusted.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zeta</strong> on <strong>15-12-2015, 23:26:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				As the afternoon rolled along, Ariadne lost track of the time spent comfortably nestling her head into Thomas' chest. A chill ran up her spine from the cool sweat that lingered, but her front was warm, pressed into his embrace. There was nothing outside of their little orb for the moment. Not Haverton, not the solicitor's office, not even the room. It was just them. <br><br>However, as the euphoria of their passions subsided, reality quietly crept back into her conscious mind. Her eyes gradually opened with the sweet nothings murmured by the man beneath her, but she made no reply, nor any acknowledgement that she had even heard him. <em>Alive,</em> he had said. Ariadne lazily traced spirals along his side, beginning with the fine red trails that she had carved into him, ending with the puckering scar tissue that had been branded into him by some other monster. Or, had those markings been left with love, as well? She was eager to know more, but now was not the time to ask. He would share with her sooner or later; he had already promised as much, to his own detriment. <br><br>Now was not the time for her intrigues. Now was the time to bask in the afterglow of their union - a respite she could surely afford and make use of. She laughed heartily at the question, an honest laugh that came from deep in her belly. It was such an innocent, lighthearted comment, and for some reason, she nearly launched forward to plant a firm kiss on his lips. She contemplated pulling him in form something more lasting and intimate, then riding him to hardness, but the abrupt shift in mood halted her quick advance. Ariadne tilted her head, lost to Thomas' meaning.&nbsp; <br><br>"An honorable... Oh... Thomas..."&nbsp; It dawned on her rather quickly after that, and it was all she could do not to sigh and pat his head condescendingly.&nbsp; <br><br>Truthfully, a child coming from their union wasn't even something she had considered.&nbsp; It was not an issue that she had had to put a great deal of thought into for ages.&nbsp; "Thomas, I..." she began, though trailed off without even having formed even a fragment of a thought.&nbsp; She what?&nbsp; What did she tell him?&nbsp; The truth?&nbsp; That she was, as far as she knew, infertile?&nbsp; Years of sleeping with previous prey had shown her that no matter how many men laid her with their seed, nothing had ever taken root.&nbsp; It pleased them to have fucked her and have the notion of breeding her, and in a way, it made the game all that much more enjoyable for her, but she had learned not to have much concern for the matter.&nbsp; Once upon a time, she hypothesized that her kind could not successfully mate it human men, but she had to quickly quash that idea.&nbsp; After all, she had had a father of her own.<br><br>Instead, Ariadne laid a gentle hand across his cheek and leaned forward for a light kiss.&nbsp; "I know," she said simply.&nbsp; "But, let us not think on these things now.&nbsp; We are rather late for a very important affair, no?"&nbsp; With that, she rose.&nbsp; She dressed wordlessly and helped him with his own apparel, now and then offering a girlish grin, a peck on on the hand, or a flutter of her lashes.&nbsp; No words.&nbsp; Nothing to break the last of the magic.<br><br>"Well, at least no one will comment on the state of our clothing," she said at last as she gathered her purse, a basket, and a blanket.&nbsp; The color and glow of the sky revealed that their departure was much later than planned, but their hosts were sure to forgive them.&nbsp; The markets, perhaps less so, but Ariadne had a certain way of sweet talking the butcher and the baker.&nbsp; "I had thought to go to the grocer on my own and perhaps surprise you with some impressive smorgasbord, but seeing as we've had a change in agenda, care to join?"&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Siren's Song (Justric and Zeta)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hob</strong> on <strong>22-12-2015, 02:48:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He hadn't expected her to swoon at his declaration. In fact, if Ariadne had then he would have begun to wonder if perhaps he'd made a mistake! While an innocent, Thomas was not so foolish as to believe that this woman would instantly fall into his arms and presume any sort of matrimony in an instant. There was something very much wild and free about his lover. He could not see her so easily tied down, not without much work and devotion and probably some few compromises along the way, all things he was more than prepared to give over time as they grew to know one another all the better. In time?&nbsp; In time they might come to more permanent arrangements.<br><br>And yet?&nbsp; For the briefest of moments she looked so very sad...<br><br>And then she was smiling, the instant forgotten about for the moment as they rose to dress themselves. “I rather think the affair has already begun,” Thomas quipped wryly. He winced as he rose, rolling his shoulders without the slightest idea of how deep the slices upon his back might be. They were more than scratches but less than incisions. Blood had seeped into the wood and carpet beneath him not in pools but in mere daubs where the scent might haunt her nostrils. Thomas was unaware of it, his mind focused instead on her smiles and eyes. He was finding Ariadne's way of communicating her humor without so much as a word charming, and a simple batting her her lashes sent him blushing and grinning at the same time as he stepped back into his shoes. If his shirt stuck to his back a little, he ignored it. After all, his boxers were far more sticky as things were, and that was more distracting than how his shirt hung upon his back! <br><br>He did excuse himself for a few moments to answer a call of nature before they ventured out, leaving his lover to finish her own adjustments.<br><br>Thomas was brushing lint off of his hat as Ariadne proposed venturing out to the stores. It was getting on in the afternoon! Offering up his arm in escort, the scholar gave her a courtly little bow as he remarked, “It can be said that we've already surprised each other, I believe. So let us see what the last of the day provides us, Ariadne! “<br><br>In fact, shopping together made more sense than not, he reasoned. Whereas before she might have laid out a vast feast to see by observation what his preferences might be, now they could discuss and share! It provided more opportunity for him to learn about her. Hardly a thing he was going to object to! Out into the daylight they stepped, Thomas grinning like a fool but maintaining his presence of gravitas as he walked with her on his arm. If townsfolk stared at them at all, be it from sight or rumor already running amok, he paid not the slightest notice. Who in their right mind could give any heed to looks or glances from the populace when such a creature might be in their company??&nbsp; <br><br>“It is a bit strange,” he was confessing to her as they walked along. “My landlady seems to think I can do no wrong whatsoever, and from what I have been able to discern she has been something of an advocate for me! I am not... unaware of the rumors that may have arisen given the... severity of the incident.”&nbsp; Thomas coughed delicately, banishing the unpleasant memories that threatened to arise. “And yet should I miss a meal, she becomes most insulted! I practically had to get special dispensation from Mrs. Milligan for our picnic this evening!”
			</dd>
		</dl>
		<div id="footer" class="smalltext">
			
			<span class="smalltext" style="display: inline; visibility: visible; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?action=credits" title="Simple Machines Forum" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF 2.0.19</a> |
 <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org/about/smf/license.php" title="License" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF © 2021</a>, <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org" title="Simple Machines" target="_blank" class="new_win">Simple Machines</a>
			</span>
		</div>