The Morning After

[deathpulse]

The curtain to the inn room is pulled back, granting a view of the courtyard below and the Nexus Plaza beyond it. People milling about, going about their business, messing with their phones, carrying packages, arguing, discussing, whispering. He'd nearly forgotten what it was like to see a healthy society and how it behaves. Like a thriving organism where all the inhabitants are its cells, the streets its veins, the buildings its organs.

A tapered finger taps once at the cigarette holder in hand, carelessly letting the bit of ash drift to the floor. Rotund'jere's people-watching goes on in half-interested silence for a few more minutes before he turns back to the person asleep in the room with him. NOW he smiles, swishing his way back to the bedside for closer admiration.

Yesterday was marvelous and then some. A lovely pick for his first conquest here in the Nexus. Couldn't have asked for a handsomer lad. As though to confirm or remind him, the hem of the sheets is pinched lightly and pulled up, affording the priest a peek back underneath. The sight prompts an even wider smile on his thin lips. Nice.

Ah, but the morning after can be treacherous. How many times has he had the most enchanted of men wake up the next day and attempt to put a knife in his breast or between his shoulders? A lot more than you'd think. It's never distressing. A little tiresome, maybe, but never anything that someone of his caliber can't handle. He'd have no business calling himself a Hero of the Ancients if an embarrassed knight with a dagger and nothing else was something threatening.

Necrophos lets the sheet drop back down as he straightens up again, weighing his options. He could leave, of course. Abscond before the young man even wakes up. He could wait, maybe secure them some breakfast downstairs in a hope of expanding this past a one night stand into a proper arrangement. Last night was good enough that he'll consider it. And he could always do the one thing that ensures an otherwise overzealous and "righteous" man consider this affair a boon, rather than write it off as some manner of vile seduction.

Right, why not. Rotund'jere parks his cigarette holder on the bedstand's ash tray, uses a band of leather to tie up his hair, smooths his hands down the undone robe he has wrapped around his waist and checks the cinch. Then leans down over the snoozing Vanyel and plants a lingering kiss against his lips. While a nice(?) wake-up call in and of itself, there's a spark of arcane that travels from one man to the other through their contact; a tendril of emerald smoke that seeps from Necro's mouth and into that of his sleeping target. An infusion of plague, but not in the type that one might suspect.

Though the Necrophos doesn't know that another spell is taking place at the same time. Namely, the breaking of a certain cat demon's charm magicks.

Comments

[drehnifusbahi]

Ordinarily, Vanyel isn't a heavy sleeper - but between the previous night's rigorous activity and the amount of (very good) wine he'd drunk, he was sleeping deeply enough that neither the morning light nor the sounds of bustle from below got him to so much as stir.

The influx of cool air when the sheet was lifted got a soft sound of complaint as he curled in on himself, but didn't truly wake him; still, he was undeniably just dozing now, rather than sleeping deeply. The light and the noises began to filter in, even after the sheet was dropped back into place.

The kiss, and the influx of magic that comes with it, is what finally fully wakes him. It isn't a bad wake up call at all, to his sleepy mind - until the memory of just who he went to bed with last night reasserts itself.

Luckily for Rotund'jere, he has no weapons on him (there might be a dagger or two tucked into his armor, but that is on the other side of the room and his wits are still too scrambled to attempt to summon them), so there's no attack forthcoming.

What he does do is set a hand on the man's shoulder and push him back - and even then, it isn't a particularly forceful push. Whether that's because he's still drowsy and slightly hungover, or because on balance this isn't actually a whole lot worse than any other drunken one-night stand he's had...

He's not really awake enough to sort that out himself, just yet.

[deathpulse]

The lack of immediate protests, anger or disgust is wonderful. Not that any of the above would have hurt feelings, heavens no. It's just simpler this way. And promising, if just barely. RJ allows himself to be nudged back, taking this opportunity to pick up his cigarette holder. The opposite hand rests loosely on the crooked elbow of the one holding his smoke. The priest looks smug.

"I do hope you're feeling well after last night. I'll be the first to admit I can get carried away sometimes. Hungry?"

Breakfast will be awkward only if you MAKE it awkward, Van.

[drehnifusbahi]

This is hardly the first drunken decision he's made that he's come to regret when morning rolled around; getting upset about it would just be a waste of energy - energy he doesn't have after last night. (Who knew the old priest had it in him? Certainly not Van - not before they made it to bed, anyway.)

So he ignores that smug look as best he can, is about to turn down the offer of breakfast and make his escape exit, but then his stomach grumbles. Loudly. "...Yes, as it happens."

Well, why not. In for a penny...

[deathpulse]

"Lovely! A moment, then." Still smug as ever, Necrophos swishes over to the door of their inn room and opens it enough to lean out. "Excuse me, dearest," he says once he's caught the slightly scandalized eye of a nearby clerk who'd been in the middle of sweeping the hallway. Said clerk also happens to be a anthropomorphic ape person, complete with opposable thumb feet and a fuzzy brown tail. This doesn't bother Necro in the least, who requests, "Tell your cook that we'd like two orders of this morning's breakfast special sent to our room. Be swift about it and I'll see you compensated handsomely." Either the offer of a tip or the eagerness to be out of the gaze of a post-coital green elf sends the clerk scampering down the stairs quickly, broom still in hand.

With that dealt with, Rotund'jere shuts the door again with a pleased hum, turning once more back to the drowsy dragonborn. "Are you sore at all? Did I leave any scratches or welts? I can tend to those now if that's the case." Nexus can't prevent passionate injuries, after all, when you signed up for it in the first place.

[drehnifusbahi]

While Rotund'jere is busy vandalizing the inn's staff, Vanyel sits up and starts to take stock of how he feels besides 'groggy and hungover'. There are, as it happens, scratches on his chest and shoulders, and - something down his back, though he can't quite tell what without a mirror.

He might not have known precisely what he was signing up for, but he did at least know the sex was going to be rough - which meant the AV field wouldn't have come into play, of course.

So he shrugs it off and is about to start healing himself - and then the priest makes that offer. "There are some on my back that I can't quite reach," he says, before he can quite stop himself.

It's difficult to be properly wary of the Necrophos, between the lack of oppressive aura and the fact that he's being far more... well, decent about all of this than Vanyel had expected he would.

[deathpulse]

"Of course," he purrs, taking a seat on the bed once more behind Vanyel and looking over his handiwork. A slender finger traces the welt in an unnecessarily sensual way, still just admiring before he gets to healing. It's not much longer before the dragonborn will feel a soothing warmth that slowly saps the sting from his back.

"So who's Dibella? An old flame? A wife?" He heard the name more than once last night. The fact that Rotund'jere is blissfully asking after possible spouses and infidelity is, well. That's a little cold. But he is a sadist, after all. And what old queen is complete without the thrill of ruining straight dudes. Honestly.

[drehnifusbahi]

His muscles jump under the priest's touch; the welt is still tender, and even that light pressure sends a frisson of pain down his spine. Once that soothing warmth starts to seep in, though, he can't help but relax - despite a part of him still feeling like he really shouldn't.

The question, though, gets a soft snort out of him. Somehow, it doesn't surprise him in the least that Rotund'jere would wait until now to ask that sort of question. "A goddess," he answers. "The goddess of love and sexuality, in my homeland."

[deathpulse]

"A goddess?" He sounds curious, but not terribly impressed. The healing continues, even though Rotund'jere clucks his tongue to see his own handiwork fade away. You will be missed, random experimental welt. "Well...Anything to assuage the guilt some feel over expressing ones' sexual interests, I suppose. Is she a terribly popular god?" Dibella honestly sounds like one of the few he could get behind, at least in spirit. Gods and Necrophos, well. Complicated history, despite his pageantry and presentation of being a priest and all.

[drehnifusbahi]

Honestly, he'd be more surprised if Rotund'jere did sound impressed; he may present as a priest, but Vanyel's never been entirely sure whether he believes that or not. "Probably the most popular in the pantheon, at least in Cyrodiil." He replies, tension draining out of his back and shoulders as the welt fades; he apparently won't be missing it all that much.