Rotund'jere (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deathpulse) wrote2017-03-14 12:36 pm
deathpulse) wrote2017-03-14 12:36 pm
The Morning After
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.
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.
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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.
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