Closed Barriers Down

[Caesarion]

56th of Summer, 0 Bells and 12 Chimes, 515 AV

"Peshin' goodness," a drunk man whispered under his smelly breath. Caesarion was surrounded by buffoons. This was the third time he'd ever gone to a tavern - the first time, he got assaulted by some drunk shykeholes and then further attacked by a tiny little clay man. Pycon. "Peshin' badness," he whispered to him in response, his face flaring up with a little bit of silliness as the man eyed him oddly then turned his head to the table to consume more of his drink. Back onto his thoughts, he was reminded of the second time he'd ever gone to a tavern. It was to console himself the company of sad little people after he'd experienced his first real Syliran heartbreak: the awful argument with Aoren in which he ran away, beginning what he now considered to be the doom of their relationship. Who did he meet each time? Ball the first time, some nameless barmaid the second time. She was so kind to him, and yet he still remained wallowing in sadness; that was much of what he did in Syliras, even despite it being a peaceful city with much opportunity. He wallowed in sadness, feigned misery in the face of a life that was good compared to most, just not compared to the extravagant luxury in which he was raised.

The more he thought about his past, the more he realized his mistakes. Everywhere he went with some similarity to Syliras, another place for him to recall a different point of view that he lacked in the face of his joyfully negligent life back in the Stormhold city. He sighed as he lowered his head, moved his fingers through his ear and groaned in frustration. One of the barmaids - though it was actually a man - looked to him and raised their eyebrow. The man came closer and took a seat on the wooden "stool" next to him. "Does something ail you?" He asked. Caesarion turned to look to his face. He was cute, he supposed. Light brown hair, green eyes, some freckles. The mage kept his head up with a palm under his jaw, narrowing his eyes as if to look bored. "Was that supposed to be a pun? Ail, ale?" His lips curved slightly, revealing a small smile. The barmaid chuckled and responded in turn. "No, but it can be if you want it to be," they said calmly.

"Would you like a drink to help keep your mind from wandering?" The Ravokian's eyes blinked twice. Of course they'd offer that. A drink. Was this their way of calling him obstructive? A bad customer? Certainly he hadn't bought a drink - but he hadn't ever recalled being removed from a tavern for not doing so. "No, that's alright," he replied. So as to prevent trouble though, he would add a false pretense. "I'll get one from you later. Right now I just want to think." He lowered his palm and smiled much more brightly - fakely - so as to seem pleasant enough. The freckled serviceman grinned in response. "I can take my break right now I think," he said, looking to his boss. Receiving an affirmative nod, the boy turned his attentions back to Caesarion. "Something's troubling you. Why don't you talk about it with me? Talking helps." He leaned against the counter and stared at the mage. His outfit seemed so pleasant for a simple employee. Everything in Zeltiva was very fancy. It was . . . a pleasant surprise.

"It's been rough the past few years," he said. "I'm just looking back. There is regret. So much regret." His gaze lowered to his lap, and he turned his position to stare at the crowd amassed on the round, wooden tables strewn about the place. "And yet none of it so easily shared," he stated. The other man's eyebrows perked up in surprise. "So perhaps you should take your break later. I am not a figure of passing interest. I am a man, and I feel as men do, with or without your ear to catch the shrilled pitch of my wails." He glanced to the server only momentarily before the man scoffed, rolled his eyes and rose from the seat. He returned to work, the leader of the establishment laughing quietly in the background. And yet Caesarion noticed, however quiet. A raggedy woman from the table closest to him turned face to him and spoke. "Petchin' kids and their passing interests, ye?" She questioned, then turned back around. "It's nothing against him, My Lady. It's only that I no longer enjoy the prospect of spilling my heart to mere strangers. They always end up ripping off chunks." The woman laughed.

"Hear that."

[Dagon Tholmin]

The self-proclaimed bard stood in the corner of the establishment eyeing up all the customers. He was leaning back against a small wooden column. He'd finished his set over an hour ago, but he felt the need to linger. He had no idea why, most of the more handsome of Zeltiva's residence didn't normally hang out at this establishment, at least, not tonight. Dagon looked down at his hat he'd placed on the floor and saw that it was barren, again. He let out a small sigh of disappointment. The boy's eyes picked up where they left off and surfed across the sea of drunks. Letting out another sigh, this one more annoyed, Dagon bent over and picked up his wide-brimmed hat. Curling his fingers cruelly around the brim, Dagon braved the sea of patrons. Dagon forced himself through the crowd, muttering an apology with a short smile after almost bumping into a man holding a pint of foul drink. As Dagon weaved through the crowd he glanced over to the bar and saw a rather muscular man sitting alone at the bar. A waiter went to make a move, but the man must've said something that the waiter found unappealing, because as quick as he was there was he gone. Dagon gave a half hearted smile and changed his course. After Dagon made it through the crowd and got to the bar, he got a proper look at the muscular beast of a man, who was turned towards the sea of stench. Dagon closed the distance and sat next to him. He placed his hat on his knee. "Greetings, stranger. I fail to recall ever seeing a face as pretty as your's in my bar." Dagon was facing the bar counter when he spoke, but after he finished he turned towards the man with a sly grin. "Not my bar, obviously. Just a saintly bard who does nothing more than offer,"Dagon touched one of his pointer fingers to his lips, mock thinking, "Entertainment, or an escape from a mind numbing subject, and you look like you could use one of those." Dagon raised his eye brow questioningly. A bemused smile spread across his face as he stared at the stranger's face.

[Caesarion]

He noticed a man eying him from across the bar, and somewhat early on considering all he'd been doing since he had gotten here involved either summoning up retrospective thoughts or looking for anomalies in the crowd. This man exchanged glances with him momentarily, though Caesarion didn't imagine the Zeltivan man noticed how mutual their gazes were for that instant. The mage decided to turn around towards the counter and rest his elbows against the table. Next thing he knew, there was someone on the stool next to him. Not surprisingly, that man. The question was whether or not he looked at Caesarion so as to judge the company that happened to be sitting on the seat next to his intended destination, or whether or not he chose his destination due to the man sitting beside it. Either way he kept his composure entirely reflective, maintaining a mental distance from his surroundings. When the blond-haired man beside him decided to speak, however, things quickly changed.

Greetings, stranger, he said. From the very first words, more conclusions could be made. One, if he was seeking conversation with a specific person - in this case Caesarion - it was highly likely that he chose his seat upon that shared glance. Two, if he made his decision due to visualization, then he must have found Caesarion either intriguing or attractive, entirely depending on his mental and sexual predilections. Three, if neither of the original two were true, then he was simply a man with loose lips who freely spoke to many others. However, within the next few words, the probability of the first and second conclusion became much more likely. I fail to recall ever seeing a face as pretty as yours in my bar, he said. Caesarion couldn't be flattered, as he was too wary. He was paranoid at worst, sheltered at best. Compliments such as that were very . . . unique to him. New.

The man turned to him shortly afterwards and Caesarion was allowed closer insight into his features. He was of average or slightly above average height most likely based on his first glance, whereas Caesarion was considered 'very tall'. He made his glance quickly so as to not arouse suspicion, as he didn't want to seem as if he were sizing him up. He was of a lithe body frame but he appeared relatively healthy - his musculature wasn't astounding but it wasn't lacking either. His hair was well-done. His skin was fair. His facial features were highly distinctive, and with bright blue eyes to boot. Not an unattractive man to be sure, though the more beautiful someone was, the more likely they were to be dangerous. Caesarion would know . . . as there were many times in this life where he'd used his appearance - conceived as highly attractive - to sway things his way.

The man then continued by saying that he was a bard and that he did nothing more than . . . offer. He wasn't quite sure what sort of offer he was speaking of, but then of course he realized he was sure to tell him within the next few seconds. Entertainment, or an escape from a mind numbing subject, he started, and Caesarion's interest rose. And you look like you could use one of those. The man then smiled. The mage . . . he wasn't sure what to make of him - his words or his actions. He was exceptionally bold, even if he wasn't trying to infer what Caesarion thought he was. Which was to say that he thought he was inferring one of two things: either something related to his stated profession - being a bard - or sexual gratification. At least that was based on what he'd generally presumed bars to be like.

"Greetings," the mage replied. He turned his body fully to face him. He was wearing a simple white shirt that clung to his figure, mostly because he had recently grown fairly large in body size, due to his beginnings in bodybuilding, and hadn't had the opportunity to replace his clothing. He had no sleeves. His pants were a simple linen wear. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary when it came to his attire. "I can't recall seeing a face as pretty as mine here either," he said with a grin. He was obviously either narcissistic or sarcastic, or both. He had no qualms with complimenting himself, or being complimented. Flirtation was a different story though. He already felt somewhat conflicted about . . . Dagon's demeanor. "I'm proud of you for your ability to offer both entertainment and escape both so ruthlessly. Considering I'm a foreigner it should be very easy to persuade the money out of my pockets on top of that. Yes?" He was blunt. There was a high possibility that Dagon was a con, and he decided to call out that possibility quite instantaneously. As for his foreign roots, they would be obvious in his accent. His R's were strong, almost rolled, and his tone and pitch were exceptionally classy and refined. He was obviously very much unlike the rest of the people here.

"So? What do you offer, saintly bard? Does your offer involve me paying you in some way? If so, I'm afraid you'll have to find another face as pretty as mine even mired among these sods and sailors."

[Dagon Tholmin]

When the man Dagon sat next to spoke, it caused the same eye brow to again raise. The accent this man was very similar to that of Dagon's. Not exact, it sounded more northern than his, not by much. If Dagon had to answer where this pretty boy was from he would only be able to guess Ravok, the only town Dagon could think of that would be close enough to share the characteristics of such an accent. Dagon had been lost in thought and didn't notice that the man had turned towards him, but it snapped him out of it when the man spoke again. This time some self boasting and gave a sardonic smile with an eye roll, deciding it would be most wise to not rage the machine. Then came the accusation. Dagon feigned a hurt look while raising a hand and pushing into his own chest, his mouth falling agape. "Why, kind sir, my hat is not upon the floor, nor do I plan to share a story of legend and lore!" Dagon motioned towards the floor with his other hand when he said "Floor" and raised the same hand up, resting his elbow onto his hip, his wrist limp. After a second longer of looking offended, Dagon neutralized his expression and took on that of a more sultry nature. Dagon did not get up from his seat, but simply leaned forwards towards the hulking man beast in front of him. "This offer is completely complimentary." Dagon's voice dropped low in both tone and sound as he whispered, "You seem tense, and," With a dirty smile, Dagon continued, "I'm fairly tense myself, and you seem like the perfect person to help loosen me up." Dagon gave a small wink as he leaned back into his chair. Dagon visibly eyed the man up and down while slightly biting his bottom lip in hopes that it would add more fuel to the fire, in a good way.

[Caesarion]

The man's choice of wording was clever, as was his feigned offense. Of course, Caesarion was slightly too wise when it came to words to let his simple tricks overly amuse him, but he did find himself smiling faintly at the corners of his lips. My hat is not upon the floor, nor do I plan to share a story of legend and lore! he exclaimed. He was cute in a way. The issue was that wariness of Caesarion's level was infinite in scope. Every instant spent talking was another spent wandering the possibilities of what he could want. How did he know, for one, that Caesarion was more keen on the male physique? Everything he did would indicate otherwise - he'd even sent away an attractive man mere instants before this one swooped down upon him. Maybe he didn't know, but merely gambled. Maybe he enjoyed the fact that he rejected someone else - it then became a challenge to him. Or maybe he had no idea either way but felt enough physical attraction to give seduction a chance? A curious man and a curious scenario.

The Ravokian tapped his fingertip against the counter as the man spoke, their eyes making contact. Blue eyes upon blue-green, Caesarion's iris' matching the color of a mossy lake. Both of them were fairly well-groomed, though Caesar was moreso, in everything but attire. He tried to use each minute detail about the man to uncover another potential fact, all to ascertain his motive. Motive. Everyone had one. Was this man's motive wealth, violence, intrigue or pleasure? All four? Three of them? Two? He had to be sure before he said anything - affirmative or negative.

"I'm glad you're not here to share a story with me. Stories bore me. I prefer explicit truth." His smile wavered on one side, but rose on the other. A small smirk. The man then noted the fading 'offense' of Dagon's face, the seducer's expression returning to normal. The bard then leaned forward and whispered, this offer is completely complimentary, which narrowed the possibilities. It wasn't money. So then it was either pleasure, violence or intrigue. Then again he doubted that this 'bard' wanted to hurt him. His words were too forward for a killer. He couldn't have been an Enforcer of Sahova's either, considering he was a human who very clearly didn't possess the stench or the insanity of most of the humans from that city. Which narrowed things further: pleasure or intrigue. Intrigue? Did he want knowledge on Caesarion? What about Caesarion would actually display that he had any important knowledge to offer? The most obvious choice became more obvious. This man just . . . wanted a quick petch. The mage on the other hand never wanted something so base. He always looked for worlds within worlds. A man and his 'appendage' carried more than just the potential for pleasure - each person had so many stories to tell. So much knowledge to share.

So while Dagon wanted that release, Caesarion sought something else. Either way, they were both seeking. Everyone was seeking, but not always did they seek what was right in front of them. This was one of such cases. The mage leaned forward into the bard's leaning, and as he whispered, the large man whispered back. "Complimentary?" He asked, a lost tone - feigned confusion, like he didn't dare imagine what Dagon was implying. And yet a tone that inquired. What could you ever mean by that? Then he replied . . . You seem tense, he said. Caesarion's eyes narrowed and his smirk rose. Of course he'd say that. It was such a trope when it came to seduction. Tense, stressed, restrained, tired. Let me loosen you up, or, let me de-stress you, or, let yourself go, or, let me excite you. How many times had he imagined such words in his own mind, or had he heard them through eavesdropping of idly devious conversations? When Dagon posed them, he could only help but slightly chuckle. I'm fairly tense myself, and you seem like the perfect person to help loosen me up. What an interesting choice of words. Loosen him up? He could only feel it carried a double meaning.

"You're a charming man," he said, catching the man's wink as he pulled back to his regular sitting position. Caesarion leaned back too, and found the other entity eying him excitedly and biting his bottom lip. The mage did admit that he was seductive, but he also carried a lot more fortitude than the bard might have been accustomed to. He managed to - for the most part - dismiss his behavior, even alluring as it might have been. "You have a procedure for this, yes?" He asked, claiming naivety. "How long might this procedure take? Does it include a massage, or some form of alleviation from your hands? Should I lay on my chest and wait it out? Tense, you say - will this tension be satiated for long, or will I eventually need to approach foreign men at taverns in order to sate a newfound addiction?" His words were . . . critical, harsh, and very altogether distanced from what Dagon wanted. His eyes though, they played games. They stared as he stared, they expressed interest enough to keep him going. Dagon was obviously very forward. But Caesarion was a game-player. He liked to manipulate people and tease them. He'd keep this up for hours if he really needed to.

And of course, in a way, he did have a tension that needed loosening - one that involved playing with people's minds like he used to, back when he was surrounded by humans in a human environment, not Undead like he'd been for the past year. "And how would a novice like me . . . 'loosen you up'? I don't understand your meaning." He smirked. As always, Caesarion was a veiled predator.

[Dagon Tholmin]

The stranger's compliments flattered Dagon, but he wouldn't be fooled too easily. This man was feigning just as much and as well as Dagon. The idea of actually trying to get a lay frustrated the bard. He was used to the men he approached falling like putty into his hands. His eyes narrowed as the man started to rattle off questions. All of them showed that the man knew what Dagon was talking about, but decided he would circle around the answer that Dagon had so circularly asked. Dagon's expression turned more into a scowl, but quickly faded into a disappointed frown. He quickly sighed and put his arm on the counter and rested his head on his hand while looking over at the interest of the night. Then out of a deep desire, Dagon's expression changed again, a determined look this time. "This procedure can take anywhere from 10 minutes to a couple hours, depending on how into it you get." More of the stomach-turning questions barraged Dagon, to which he did his best to think quick on his feet, an average task for the word smith. "It can include a massage, if you want. Anything for someone as easy on the eyes as you, my friend." Dagon did his best to still look as interested as he had just a few moments ago, but this was a difficult nut to crack. Then, the question of all questions was asked Tense, you say - will this tension be satiated for long, or will I eventually need to approach foreign men at taverns in order to sate a newfound addiction? "It might not be satiated for long, but who says you'll need to look for anyone else besides your's truly? I've been told I'm pretty good." Dagon's interest was peaked and was back into the game. The question really sparked his imagination. "Since you seem to be the bigger foreigner here, I assume you travel, yes? Well, I have little ties to this place." Dagon smiled again. The man made a comment about his lack of experience, though in a naive way that showed he was fully understanding what he was saying. It almost got Dagon to be literal, until he saw the man smirk. "You understand my meaning, sir. The both of us know this. You may take me for a fool, but reading people is what I do. Please, don't disrespect my intelligence by assuming otherwise." Dagon took a breath, "You seem to enjoy being in command of a situation, what if I knocked you off the pedestal? Hmmm?" Dagon smiled into the eyes of the beast. He would not back down, not with the amount of intrigue the man possessed.

[Caesarion]

He eyed the man oddly. Ten minutes to a couple of hours? How fascinating how each man was so different - enough to create such a rift. "Ten chimes to two bells is like - a multiplication of twelve. That's quite a variation." He laughed under his breath. Obvious deduction. But what he was trying to infer was, something else. "Is it really just being into it? Or are there more factors? Such as the man himself. His . . . vitality. His endurance. His self-control. These things must all factor into your..." he raised up his finger and twirled it, "time frame." The man seemed strangely compelled by this one statement. It was really his virginal curiosity at work. He wouldn't mind learning of things such as stamina, dexterity and self-control if it came down to ever actually petching someone. No, in reality, he was always exceptionally driven in whatever action he committed himself to; even sexuality was an art that needed expansion, study and . . . perfection.

"If you add a massage, it lengthens still? Fifteen chimes to three bells? Would you really add a massage just for my appearance? How shallow." That second flurry of questions was entirely teasing, the man still making way to play games with this unnamed bard whenever he really could. A massage. He'd never gotten one of those. The idea sounded fairly appealing to him, however, considering the complete lack of any gratification he'd received when it came to the physical. It was only self-devastation through rigorous exertions. He had never actually imagined - not in recent months anyhow - really delving into more baser desires. He'd shaped himself to a mold so distinct from that possibility. The Caesarion that sought idyllic prances down a lane with a man he'd fallen in love with, or had become attracted to, down until their bedside . . . such visions faded from his mind.

Instead it was like he wanted to learn about this forbidden act entirely for the sake of it, like a bold curiosity in something that was generally unspoken of. How many actually had the brazen personalities required to express their insight on sexual activity? How many would be anything but offended by questions that looked deep into their recreational activities?

And of course, Dagon finally stated, it might not be satiated for long, which was his suspicion. Was sex not a carnivorous force? Did it not destroy discipline? Caesarion had recently reshaped his life on discipline - it was the necessary foundation on which he'd begun to build. Would a new force, a new pleasure, contradict this foundation? He had to wonder. A mix between curiosity, desire and wariness formed into his current demeanor which was that of an evasive tease. And so as Dagon began to speak so silly, claiming he may need only ever look to Dagon for gratification, he parted his lips to speak coy words before the man added more to what he said, interrupting his following statement. Since you seem to be the bigger foreigner here, I assume you travel, yes? An astute observation. He silently applauded him.

Then, of course, there was something much more implicative in there - words that carried real meaning, or dangerous manipulation. Well, I have little ties to this place. Did that mean that he was willing to join Caesarion in his travels? A mobile . . . thing to please one's self with? That offer, if given to any other man of similar tastes, would surely be taken with open arms - but it was dangerous. If ever one would base their behavior too heavily on a person they're currently in proximity with, it was either due to infatuation which was an unhealthy state of being, or a desire to exploit them for some seen or unforeseen benefit. Why would he offer something so forwardly? Traveling the world with someone wasn't as simple as . . . approaching them in a tavern. "You are right about my tendency to travel," he said. "My route is towards Riverfall. I came originally from Sahova. A unique place, to be sure." He said this with only the most satirical expression. Truthfully he hated the place.

The man then continued to speak, and he seemed to grow in aggression with his words, whether because he was trying to make clear a point or because he was getting anxious or impatient over his desires. "I don't take you for a fool." He was clear on that. "In fact I take you as fairly intelligent. And persistent. And as I said, charming." He smiled faintly. He lifted one of his boots to press against the stool, entering a strange sitting position, his arm slouching over his knee as he pressed his head into it. He could already imagine the distaste from the nearest barmaid. "I am impressed by how you carry yourself. For a moment, you actually managed to seduce my eyes. I think it was when you bit your lower lip. Your tone. Your poise. Outstanding." He grinned, then he lowered his leg back onto the floor before standing up and stepping to close proximity of Dagon.

"There is no such thing as true control. Only steering individual elements to your favor. This can be done in many ways. Conversationally, though . . ." His eyes trained on Dagon's, the two of their gazes making contact. His Djed swelled and he cast a minor spell: suggestion. "I am always in control," he said, and the words echoed in Dagon's mind. He would feel their gravity; he would feel, potentially, as if Caesarion was someone of exceptional skill in steering said elements to his favor. Someone who maintained leadership of the situations he'd come across. "Do you have a room somewhere?" He asked, then quickly waved his hands to state his intention. "Not because I want to do anything. But because I prefer a quiet environment. It helps with . . . focusing, on whatever interesting subject. I find you somewhat interesting, so I wouldn't mind your focused attention. Perhaps we'll even manage to work out a deal - a way in which we both win." He looked very confident. If anyone had un-ascertained motives, it was Caesarion.

He simply wanted a diverse night - since this one would be his last in Zeltiva for quite a long period of time.

[Dagon Tholmin]

Dagon listened to the man banter on, adding on more questions that had an undertone of sarcasm. Dagon simply ignored what he said and stared blankly at the man across from him. That was until the stranger mentioned where he was traveling to, and where he came from. ""Sahova to Riverfall? I'm not familiar with either city, but I know that is a long trip." It was after Dagon's slight aggression trip that this stranger complimented Dagon. It gave him a feeling of slight surprise, but at the same time, it felt nice; being noticed and told how alluring your previous actions have been really did something for Dagon. It made a brash smile crawl on Dagon's face. It had been a while since anyone had complimented the bard in such a way. The fierce battle between word smiths, and their individual goals. In Dagon's sense of euphoria, the stranger stood up, Dagon would match, in fear that his prey would be escaping. As Dagon stood into the stranger, Dagon looked up and into the eyes of the man he'd been trying to seduce, while his hands pressed against the man's chest, feeling the force behind the muscles in this man. It made Dagon shiver, unfortunately for Dagon, him getting distracted by the man's muscular chest, it made him oblivious to what the other man was saying until the man took a break in a sentence. Dagon looked up questioningly, hoping that it would look like he was paying attention when it hit him. He felt this sense of submission that he wasn't used to in public. It almost gave him this sense of fear, that made him gently bite him lower lip again, while looking in a state of both fear and intrigue. The man asked if Dagon had a room, into which he fished into one of his pockets and produced a room key. Silently, Dagon grabbed the hand of the man and started dragging him through the bar's crowd, getting out of the bar and into a hall with residential rooms. Dagon went up to his door and unlocked it. He pushed open the wooden door and went inside. When Dagon got inside the room he went to his bed and sat down, looking questioningly at the mysterious man. "What did you want to do here, my kind sir?" The words left Dagon easily, though this level of subservient behavior was unnatural for him.

[Caesarion]

The mage smirked as the man revealed his key, and followed him to his room, eyes gazing upon them as they went. People always wanted to know of one another and their business - but Caesarion's eyes didn't reveal anything, nor his expression or demeanor. He simply seemed intrigued. When the two of them made it to the room and found their way inside, the Ravokian stepped over to the bed and seated himself against the material. His eyes looked to the bard. "I'm Caesarion by the way," he said. It was best that they knew the names of one another. He didn't wish to refer to him by titles, or he'd end up producing an unkind variety. Caesarion was never very sweet with his nicknames. His sarcastic nature got the better of him.

"Sahova to Riverfall is . . ." he stopped for a moment. He pondered upon the distance. So many miles. A one-hundred day long journey, even with horse and ship. More than a full season. "It's a long journey indeed." He leaned back into the bed, placing one hand against the fabric covering his chest and one around the edge of the bed. His knees rose, pointing to the ceiling. His position was strangely sprawled out.

He looked to Dagon then, the man seated on the other side. He was surprised that he didn't invite Caesarion to the bed from the beginning, considering what he was after. Maybe this was all a part of his game - maybe he was trying to seem now like he was less after it, despite the fact that Caesarion's body was potentially the whole of the reason why he'd been invited into this room. That and . . . his suggestion, which he planned on furthering in gravity. When the man posed his question, as to what Caesarion wanted to do, the mage devilishly smirked and looked again into the eyes of his prey. Again he let Djed flow through his eyes. He raised his shirt to "scratch his chest", revealing his abdomen.

A grin flickered as his eyes seemed to go hazy - deep into a sort of 'mode', desperately trying to allure the eyes of the other. And then another stage of conditioning would be triggered, hypnosis again, where whatever attraction the man would feel at the sight of Caesarion's body would be multiplied and his blood would rise and ignite with interest. Emotional response. "What did I want to do?" His eyes fell back and he rose his lips, an inquisitive look growing. He poked at his chin.

The man then looked back and shrugged his shoulders, lowering his shirt back to his belt, covering what small glimpse Dagon had. "I suppose I wanted to find out more information. See what type of person you are. It's difficult to do this in public where people might watch. There are so many gazes and judgmental determinations. People that may let their thoughts consume the surface of their attentions. Let their minds radiate what they feel. Create an environment of judging. I don't like the public places very much - or public opinion. Each person in the public is always pretending away the truth of who they are. Each person is always trying to seem like they're someone different . . . someone more civil. These social desires manifest in judgements. He is too brazen, she is too loud, they wear revealing clothing or they are too emotional . . . so on and so forth." He looked to Dagon again and beckoned that he come closer to him. That the two of them share the same corner of the mattress - close their proximity. He asked so as to relax the bard. Relaxation was all he wanted. He didn't seek anything but the man's earnest approval, tied to a bit of essential information that may wave away Caesarion's wariness.

"I don't want to know about who you are in public. Everyone is different. I for one enjoy embarrassing others in public. It's sort of just what I do; it's what I find entertaining." He weaved the briefest of smirks. It was fair enough to say that he'd instantly changed in his personality now that they were behind closed doors. He was more open already, and he was far less critical of Dagon's minute behaviors. But still he had begun to condition the man. He had a goal for tonight that wouldn't haunt him very far considering he was leaving the next morning. He could only wonder whether or not Dagon would take interest in his machinations or if he'd feel harassed and disgusted. Either way he would act as he desired to. "I personally am a very ambitious man . . . a mage. A powerful mage." He had to add that in - of course. He had a great deal of pride to look after. "And you . . . are a seducer, or you try to be. I'm sure you generally succeed." He would turn to him, assuming he'd laid beside him on the bed by now, in closer proximity. "This time however, don't you think that I'm the one who has won your infatuation, and not the other way around?"

[Dagon Tholmin]

Dagon sat on the bed and turned his head slightly when the man he was talking to sat down next to him. As Dagon met the other man's eyes, the other man introduced himself. Caesarion. Dagon rolled the name around in his mouth, tasting how the name felt on his tongue. It was heavy at first, but slowly faded back and relaxed. It was interesting. Dagon smiled at the man, it was a nice name. "My name is Dagon. Dagon Tholmin." The bard introduced himself as well. The man started talking about his trip, but as he did he laid back, completely laying on the bed. Dagon's eyes followed the figure and ended on the man's face. Dagon smiled dreamily at the man, this Caesarion. He really was beautiful, and here he was laying on Dagon's bed. The ideas that poured into Dagon's brain made his pants grow a tad bit tighter. Suddenly, Dagon's lust tripled. A tent was fully visible in Dagon's pants. Dagon's eyes traveled over the man again, ending on his abs, which had been conviently revealed for a short period of time, and crotch. Dagon could feel his head spinning and his mouth grow dry. He wasn't normally like this, but this was a new sensation growing inside of him. Dagon tried to focus on the monologue of the man, but his mind was too busy thinking of perverse situations that could be happening instead. Dagon's hands grew figidity, adjusting a suddenly stiff part of his body, his eyes trying to see through that damned shirt. As Caesarion ended his speech with a question about infatuation, Dagon took this opportunity to pounce. Instantly, Dagon was over the man that laid on his bed. Dagon's brain was completely hard wired on one thing, getting off. Dagon's movement were swift and he swooped in for a kiss, though much more than just a peck on the lips. As he did this, Dagon attempted to maybe pin Caesarion's arms down, and attempted to grind his body against the body builder. Trying anything for physical contact.