hot and cold [closed]

[Artume Verte]

For a tavern, The Screaming Lass had always been a touch cold for her tastes. Even with elf struck clawing after her, Artume relied on drink to keep warm and cozy.

A curved glass of whiskey was placed at her table by a garlanger waiter. Artume smiled at him, crossing her legs, leaning forward, grasping the glass eagerly. "Why, thank you, young sir." Her voice trickled from her mouth as if made of thick smoke. The waiter gave a shy, embarrassed laugh before dipping his head and returning to his work.

Not undelicately, Artume took a long drink from the glass. The whiskey glistened in the dim lighting, and her hair fell from place when she returned the glass to the table's surface. She tucked a golden curl behind her ear and licked her lips. Verte had actually dressed properly today - a green slip with brown and gold embroidery. An ivy leaf brooch had been arranged carefully between her breasts, accented by brown tassels that resembled vines. She purred as she downed another gulp of whiskey.

"Mighty thirsty, aren't we?"

A young nimbus took the liberty of seating himself at her table. He brought his elbows up and interlaced his hands, grinning. Artume eyed him carefully. She held back a smirk.

"I suppose," she said, licking her lips, "or perhaps it's only the cold. Whiskey keeps you warm."

"It's winter outside, but here in the court it isn't nearly as cold as you seem to think. Maybe you just need somebody to keep you hot..."

"Hot, hm?" Artume leaned forward, mimicking the man's posture and nibbling her lip. "I have to say I'm pretty hot on my own." She chuckled and drank the remainders of her whiskey before pushing the glass towards the man, forcing him to catch it. Before he could look back up, she had left for the opposite side of the tavern. That would have been too easy. She sighed, scanning the rest of The Screaming Lass for optimal prey.

[King Cel]

The Screaming Lass, the king remembered the place well. Before his reign, as a young prince he would go there and drink with the commoners. Fae of the high court and the lowly paupers alike drank and ate their fills; satisfied their glutinous urges at the Screaming Lass, and Cel had reveled in the excess. The young prince had also amused in how many nimbus frequented the place, hoping their time spent around the sidhe would potentially bring them to power. It had happened once or twice, the King supposed, but it was pathetic the way most went about it. He would watch as nimbus inched closer to the sidhe beings they could never hope to touch, let alone speak to. It was ironic how much Cel hated the idea of a desperate nimbus pandering to a sidhe, but at the same time he had enjoyed bedding a nimbus for years.

As the King entered the Screaming Lass the atmosphere of the tavern changed, those who noticed him glanced up with a nervous eye. Cel simply continued to the back of the tavern, nodding at those he recognized with a coy expression, a smirk painted across his extremely handsome visage.

He stopped at the back end of the bar, taking a drink of straight vodka from the barkeep as he scanned the sea of souls. Normally the king didn’t frequent such places, but he required a release from the recent stress the fae Alecto had troubled him with, and thought he could simply call for a woman to be brought to his chambers he preferred to find one on his own. He was a lion, he was a hunter.

That was when he noticed the female sidhe. She didn’t lift her head to acknowledge him and he didn’t recognize her. She likely didn’t realize who he was, and that was intriguing. Thus, the king made his way towards her. For all she knew he was a sidhe male, dressed head to toe in the finest suit human money could buy. He leaned into her, ”All that glitters is not gold, so it seems.” He whispered as he moved to face her, ”A pretty sidhe you are. What is your name?”

[Artume Verte]

Shivers ran across her limbs, down her neck. This man who had approached her was quick to the point. A sidhe, Verte observed, smile curling.

"Only pretty?" she pouted and leaned back into him. "You're handsome yourself... Maybe handsome enough for a drink." Artume pulled away then and winked, her green glow thickening and curling towards him. Her Hand itched, but she would hold it at bay before she got herself into something reckless. Sidhe or no, he could still be revolting in his... desires.

"I'm Artume Verte... the Green Fairy that you may be familiar with if you go to taverns much," she giggled and pressed a finger to her lips, softly nibbling at the tip. "Who are you?" Verte turned fully to him, taking her hand from her mouth to play with her hair. The golden ringlets nearly enveloped her summer wine cheeks. She glittered and glowed, and soon the handsome sidhe was not the only one ogling her. Artume noticed the nimbus from earlier lurking near, garlangers and some hungry, desperate elf struck. It did not stop her. She grinned brighter knowing the urges they held, the indulgences they were going to the edge for. The indulgences they would not achieve.

At least not with her.

[King Cel]

The king watched the sidhe glow envelope her body, her magical display enticing to all, and he especially was not immune. His lips parted, revealing the tongue that ran hotly across his teeth. His sapphire blue eyes swirled with tricolors, but he did not allow his sidhe opulence to show. He was sure she had heard rumors of the Unseelie King whose flesh glowed like black quartz in the right lighting or at an odd angle. He glowed as a sidhe did, but not in a traditional way. His glimmer was more subtle, more akin to the Prince of Flesh and Darkness who was quiet in his sadism. He didn’t want her to realize who he was, he was having too much fun in this façade.

”Perhaps I should frequent them more, then.” He said with a grin and a raised eyebrow. He drew his glass to his mouth, sipping the caustic liquid that it held. Cel avoided catching the eye of any of the patrons who watched them. He was sure his gaze would cause all but the elf struck to cower, look away as if they had never been looking. But they were all fools, Cel knew who stared, the darkness whispered to him, and these taverns were filled with dark corners.

When she asked who he was, he did not hesitate to answer. ”I’m too young, perhaps, to hold the name of a god or a place in human lore. But I am called the Prince of Flesh, a warrior and a politician here in the Unseelie.” Cel ushered the conversation of his identity away quickly, and took a step towards a table. He lifted his hand, pulling a chair out for Artume, ”Shall we?” He asked as he waited for her to take a seat.

[Artume Verte]

Artume bit back a scoff. "I hope you don't mean to say I'm some kind of goddess or place - a beverage or a muse, perhaps, but a forgotten one, cast to the sides of history after laying waste to many a man... It is a sad thing, really."

When Verte found herself sitting across from the sidhe man, she realized suddenly that she must have drank too much. I have appeared ever so pathetic, and I am not baiting him as I should. He's baiting me! My words, I have to turn this around. I need the upper hand... His charming words and - was it his eyes that were so entrancing? Whatever it was, he was dangerous. Artume pulled tight on her reigns, jerking herself back into control.

"Prince of Flesh? And just what do you do, with your clever politics and, what I imagine is manly fighting, here in the caves?" Artume grinned at him, eyebrows arched in curiosity. She rested her chin in one of her golden hands and gestured with the other for another drink. The garlanger waiter returned momentarily, in the midst of the man's response, with another glass of whiskey for the lady. She did not bother thanking him beyond a curt nod. Appearances, appearances, she told herself, don't drown, now. That's for him and them to do, not you.

[King Cel]

Cel chuckled, playfully lifting his glass as if to toast to her before he took a sip. ”Either way, your existence supersedes my own.” He placed his glass down, sitting back in his chair as he watched her think. A smile on his face as he interlaced his fingers across his stomach, his own thoughts that of the mirth his façade brought him as it wasn’t often the king was able to mingle freely with the court.

Cel leaned forward, chuckling lightly at the playfully patronizing words the woman spoke. He placed his elbow on the table, absently tracing a circle around the rim of his glass with his other hand. He bit his lip, still chuckling as he thought of what to say. ”I don’t often do the fighting.”[/b] The king simply said, his eyes moving from the glass to Verte. His hand fell away from the glass, his posturing straightening up.

A grin spread across his face, a genuine one as the thoughts of his victims danced in his head. His adversaries that had been destroyed by his own hand, those memories brought him joy. Before he could answer, however, the garlanger waiter came and upon handing Verte her drink, immediately noticed Cel. The creature’s face paled, and he bowed to the King. Most of the lesser garlangers knew exactly who Cel was. Cel raised an eyebrow at the man then looked back to Verte,”I oversee things.”[/b][/color]

[Artume Verte]

"Then how can you claim to be a warrior?" She smirked with a taunting, cat-like expression dancing across her eyes. But then - it was odd, the way the waiter bowed...

Artume quirked a brow and gave the fellow sidhe a look. "Oversee what things? Oversee how? Whatever do you mean?" She had the sense of some strange impending trouble, but could not quite place her finger on why. Artume did her best to hide her unease and feigned complete ignorance as best she could. Not that it was difficult, considering she was already quite confused.

And if my existence "supersedes" his, then why aren't they bowing to me, hm? Verte nearly chuckled at the thought, but it would have been misplaced. Instead she occupied herself with caressing her glass, fingers curved smoothly along its contours. She took another dainty sip of the whiskey.

[King Cel]

The King simply shrugged, sweeping a strand of black locks behind his ear as he lifted his glass, the sound of the ice hallow against the finery as his drink was almost finished. If Cel had been a human he would have been a lightweight, he wasn’t large of build nor was he a regular drinker. However, the sidhe blood in his veins kept him from feeling mind numbingly drunk whereas he was pleasantly buzzed, instead.

He sensed the unnerved tones in Artume and chuckled. He went to take another sip but when nothing but the cold ice found his lips he placed the glass down, pushing it away from him as if to remind himself that he was finished and didn’t want more. ”I am the King,” he said nonchalantly, and just like that the gig was up. He didn’t look at her when he spoke, instead looking at the table with a grin.

He drummed lightly on the table and finally looked up, ”And the fact that you’re casually sipping whiskey has impressed me, Artume Verte.” He sat up straight, now knowing that the fun was over and Artume's demeanor was likely to change. Still, his intentions remained the same.

[Artume Verte]

What.

Did he say...

...King?

This can't be happening--

Good fucking God, what have I done?

Did I do anythi--

Impressed?

What is he...

What is this-- "Pardon me?" Artume blurted out, no longer keeping a steady posture. Or a steady gaze. Or a steady head. "I-- I don't know, it comes with the job title, the drinking, I suppose-- I don't.. I don't entirely understand, how would... Why would you be here, of all places? And I, I must apologize if I was out of turn. I did not know. I know very little. Though I'm sure that's obvious by now." She guffawed at herself, eyes rolling to the floor, swaying in her chair. It wasn't the whiskey, but the overwhelming idea of having spoken so loosely with this man, the King. How could she be so dumb, so ignorant? Do I play coy? Do I play anything at this point? Bloody hell, what do I do at all? What is he planning to do here? What could become of me? I don't know anything about these things, I hardly know what a King does.

Verte gathered herself back together, as best as she could. Her hands occupied themselves with pressing down her dress, crossing her legs, straightening just slightly, turning properly towards him from across the table. Distantly, she was aware of her hands finding the glass of whiskey again, and she took another sip. It soothed her some, and she was able to focus her yellow-green eyes back on the King.

"I understand more fully now as to why you're so attractive. I thought it a little unusual, but now it makes more sense, being that you're the King..." Her voice was faraway, as if she was hardly there at all. She felt the fool - it should have been obvious with his striking eyes. Now, she noticed the nature of his skin, even as he held back his sidhe glow. Hers had settled, nearly sucked back up into her body, practically non-existent, and she tried not to feel ashamed. Just how out of place had she been? Would she even have known how to act, anyway? No. Absolutely not, she thought, and trembled.

[King Cel]

Cel chuckled one of the few genuine fits of laughter he would ever give way too. Normally when the king laughed it was for some maniacal reason or a condescending giggle that was truly meant to incite fear. The King slid his hand over the table, his body moving as well in a silky, graceful way, almost cat-like. ”You needn’t fret.” He said reassuringly but still half-laughing, ”It was I who approached you.” He winked as he withdrew from the table, sitting back as he interlaced his fingers behind his head, cradling it as he observed her.

”That’s a shame. I like to think my charm is my own not an inherent trait of the crown.” He hummed lightly, still drinking her in with his alarmingly blue eyes. He let his glamour fade, and though his flesh didn’t change in color or glow, the reflection the light cast off of him was different. His flesh looked as if it were made from dozens of microscopic quartz, ones that only shimmered when he moved to catch the light. However, the man himself did not shine, for what was true of the part was not true of the whole.

”King Cel, Prince of Flesh and Darkness.” He licked his lips satisfactorily. The King’s gaze was a bit more predatory now, but still he held that bit of allure to him. He was confident, relaxed and extremely playful in every mannerism. ”And it has been a pleasure, Artume Verte, Princess of…” He cocked his head, ”What did you say it was, again?”

[Artume Verte]

The air caught in her throat. A rock -- a boulder settled in her stomach and weighed her to her seat. The glass of whiskey seemed thousands of kilometers away, even as the King seemed to be right up in her face. Artume was painfully aware of her sudden predicament: his body language, the way he accentuated certain words... Flesh, he said, but what he meant was flesh, and oh, God, what am I going to do?

The attitude and demeanor everyone saw, the one she boasted and exuded constantly, would have easily been interpreted as loose. It was meant to be seen that way, it was all part of the game. Anyone with half a mind would agree, and as to her current situation: of course she would sleep with the King, why wouldn't she? That'd be quite the catch for her, she'd revel in it, and probably try to get the upper hand in the situation. But I can't. I can't get the upper hand because he's dangerous, and because I can't actually go to bed with him, because he.. and I...

She tried to not look panicked, but at this point it was out of her hands. She scrambled to focus. "I didn't. I, um, I didn't say what I was, that is. I am -- I suppose I'm Princess of Mangled.. Hearts," she swallowed hard and tried not to blush. It was not something she admitted often, and she had never felt so afraid of it.

Verte attempted to read further into his words, find some double meaning -- maybe the "it has been a pleasure" was giving way to a nearing departure. It could be interpreted as a goodbye, surely, and she could only hope. This was a tangle she never thought she'd see herself in -- with anybody else who wanted her, she simply toyed them along, pushing them to the very brink, and leaving right when they needed her most. But with him, with a king, it was impossible. Kings got what they wanted. She could only hope that, maybe, if it got that dangerous and close, he would suddenly lose interest when she told him the truth. In all likelihood that'll only pique his curiosity.

[King Cel]

It amused Cel to watch that provocative little façade she wore melt into nothingness. To hear her stutter with each word, to watch her calm and composure fade simply made him happy to be King. Why would he have ever wanted to portray anything else, anyway? The thought eluded him, and it seemed as if he had forgotten his original reasoning entirely. The King not felt pride in his title, parading beneath any other mask would be…demeaning.

When she uttered what magic she controlled the corner of Cel’s lip turned upward. He purred his voice low and velvety, a mixture of playful teasing and subtle mockery, the King’s flirtation mixed with his royal pomp. ”Then why have I not felt your magic’s kiss? You seemed so eager…” He rose, coming to full height while she still sat. He moved around her, standing at her back but declining to touch her.

”I am a man of many needs, Verte.” He whispered, the tones meant to be seductive but coming from Cel, a king known for his violent tendencies, they sounded simply dangerous. He leaned forward, his body engulfing her as he placed his hands on the table and hovered over her shoulder, still avoiding contact but close enough so that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, the breath on her neck.

”Rest easy, my darling green fairy…For tonight I have no such needs. But you have piqued my interest, and a time will come when you are called to my chambers.” He kissed her cheek lightly, the tickle of his lips fleeting as he moved away, his cheek brushing against the golden tendrils of her hair as he did so.

The king made his move towards the exit, and for the first time since his arrival the tension within the tavern dissipated. Faerie began to converse freely, still mindful of the shadows that surrounded them, and garlanger females emerged from the kitchens. Still Verte was amongst them, marked by all the patrons as the woman who the King had been speaking to, and while some still shot her glances, she was largely avoided.[/color]