Sharing Warmth (Naya)

[Fenilen]

18th of Winter, 510 AV

A dedicated, burnt, scarred hand spun the pipe within its grasp. Around and around and around the pipe went, its end tipped in red, glowing glass, currently being shaped by an Inarta who had seen the inside of the Glassworking shop-- and it's inhabitants-- a little too much. Wooden block pressed against the glass, Fenilen continued shaping it, shaving off the liquid that was undesirable for the beautiful form he was crafting, exerting his will upon it. It was at points like now when he felt the most powerful. The semi-liquid before him was literally his to command, his to shape, if he simply took the initiative and DID it. A pink, full lip found its way into his mouth, where he bit it fervently, resisting the urge to take off the top layer of chapped flesh. Too cold! He had to warm the glass if he were to continue shaping it! Stable, certain hands carried the glass over the second furnace that was lined up against the wall. The motions were so familiar to him. The motions had been ingrained into him since birth. The motions were like breathing. Glass found its way back into the Glory Hole furnace, where it remained for a good minute and a half, regaining the heat it had lost whilst the Inarta was shaping it.

Finally, he removed it again. The semi-solid was glowing orange, and he could feel its heat beating against his bare chest as he moved it back to the tool set, settling the pipe into the rack. Silently, his hand began the twisting motions once more, whilst the block-holding hand once more began to shape the glass, slowly forming the neck he so badly desired for his piece, slowly forming the loving curve he so desired at the base of his piece. Cheeks burned at the heat of the furnace and the boiling glass, his body covered in a glistening layer of sweat, causing him to glow in the eerie light the furnaces and the spare lanterns cast on him. Not an hour ago, Faycia had left the shop for the night, amazed that her apprentice was still working. She didn't understand. He had to finish this piece. It was important to him, more important than any he had worked on since leaving Wind Reach. Tired eyes watched the spinning piece as the block took more and more off of it, trimming it down. Almost there, almost there... The cut was almost just perfect... Fenilen felt himself shudder as a cold breeze collided with his back. He couldn't look over his shoulder to see who it was. He was too occupied. This was too important. The man had learned to tune out distractions after the endless amounts of men had entered and stayed in the back for an hour with the Snow Leopard. Moans and sighs were generally not good for producing a working environment if one focused too intently on them.

Finished! The last of the unwanted scrap glass came off, falling aside, to the ground, where it belonged. A quick sigh of relief. Fenilen bent over, his body still covered in sweat, bringing his lips to the end of the pipe, where the chaffed, pink surfaces sealed around it. Powerful lungs drew in cold air through his nose, before expelling it through his lungs, down the pipe, into the semi-solid glass collected and shaped at the end. He kept his breath even and steady, filling the glass with air, forming an inner shell, forming a second, water-tight, airtight skin. Finally, after three long, deep cycles of breathing, he rose to his feet once more, retrieving a metal cone with a wooden handle from the table of tools next to him. Still, he had not spared a glance at the woman whom had entered behind him. He made his way to the end of the pipe, and, still spinning in, in a feat of stretching worthy of song, slipped the cone into the end, pushing down into it, opening up the mouth of the vase. A quiet sigh left his lips as he felt the heat nip at the flesh of his hands, ignoring the tingling sensation that would be unnerving to one who had spent less time around glass than him. Soon, the mouth of his piece was form. It was finished. It was perfect.

A clank was heard by whoever had entered the studio moments ago as the cone was set back on its tray. Scarred, pale hands lifted the pipe out of the rack yet again as Fenilen made his way over to the third furnace on the wall, the annealing furnace. Silently, pride burning just as hot as the fire withing the furnace, he slipped the pipe, piece on the end, into the furnace, sighing ever so slightly as he did so. He was finished. His piece was complete. Now, he had to return to the monotony of daily life. As he left the certainty and stability of his craft and entered the tumultuous and violent uncertainty of reality, Fenilen licked his chafed lips. When his arm wiped the sweat from his brow, pink scars became apparent on his hand and arm, from the many burns he had suffered in his career. Silently, he sized up the woman before him.

She was a little under half a foot taller than him, forcing him to look up at her if he wanted to meet her eyes. Silently, he tilted his head, eventually speaking to break the silence that hung over the pair in the hot, poorly-lit room. Still, he sweat, light reflecting off of his sweat-covered, bare chest as broken Common left his lips. "May I help you? Faycia is gone for the night, so the studio is technically closed to purchases... But I can reserve a piece for you for tomorrow. I am Fenilen Ruin, son of Maverick, brother to Emory and Nyali, friend of Bird and Eagles," as he spoke, it was apparent that he wasn't exactly comfortable being alone in a room with a stranger such as her. Physically, she was more imposing than him, and his precious Talon Sword, the thing that had so dutifully fended off the Servants of Them with until now, was across the room, on one of the shelves. He did not like this. No no no no no, not one bit. He needed an excuse! A towel! There was one on the shelf! Silently, he moved past her, grabbing the towel from the shelf, wiping the sweat from his body as he fastened the sword to his belt. Now, feeling safe, feeling secure, he turned back to the woman, tilting his green eyed head once more.

Little did she know, prayers to Priskil were being formed in his head as she spoke, prayers that this was not to be his end, prayers that he would live to see another day, prayers that she would protect him with her Holy Light. Prayers to give him Hope. Hope was all he needed to see him through this encounter with this stranger. Hope and Her Light would see him through any hardships anything or anyone, be it this woman, They, or The World itself, threw at him.

[Naya]

Naya had quite a bit of spare money, she noticed. Sure, there was the daily living expenses that she spent when frequenting the Red Diamond Tavern and every so often when she treated herself to something, but she did have quite a bit of money left over at this point in time. Of course, eventually she would have to get a paid job, though Naya chose to ignore that for the time being. She would get a job only when she was starving and had absolutely no other money. After all, didn't they say that you were supposed to focus on the positives in life? A job was certainly not a positive, therefore, she didn't focus on it!

As she had quite a bit of spare money, she decided to treat herself. What, she wasn't sure. She sat on her bed, in her single room in the Snowsong Hold. She pondered, mentally going through everything she could buy in Avanthal. The markets sold animals - she would get herself a pet, but she suspected she would begin to hate it after a day or so. There was always weaponry, but Naya found the art of fighting uncouth, and where would she learn to wield a sword, anyway? Artistry was always nice, though Naya never had the patience to stand and look at art properly. She wracked her brains, trying to think of what other businesses were run in her town.

There was, of course, the allure of jewelry. Naya had an eye for all things pretty, but being clinically impatient, could never stop to fully consider artworks or sculptures. Jewelry, however, was a different type of art work - an artwork which stayed with you wherever you went, meaning you didn't really have to pause your day to appreciate it, as it was always there to be appreciated. What type of jewelry should she get herself? Bronze was too tacky, gold too cliche and silver two expensive. She supposed that buying herself a pendant would lessen the price, though the pendent would then have to be exquisite, to outshine the dullness of the chain. A glasswork pendant should do nicely. And where in Avanthal could she find glasswork? Faycia's shop. She pushed herself off the bed, and walking out of her Hold, set off for Faycia's glasswork shop.

Faycia was an infamous Vantha, and one held in high esteem. At least, she was by Naya. Whispers had reached Naya's ears, while sitting in the darker corners of taverns with some loose men. Men who boasted about having a similar experience with the married Faycia, in the back room of the glasswork shop. By all accounts, there was a whole parade of such men. Most Vantha who happened to hear the tale were shocked, or disgusted - but not Naya. An aspiring seductress herself, she had nothing but respect for this scandalous glassworker.

She entered the Skyglow Hold, and quickly located the glassworking studio on the lower levels. She opened the door and was met with the sight of -- or rather, ignored by -- a strange looking man busying himself about the studio. He was several inches shorter than her, with fiery red hair. She couldn't see the features of his face to make an accurate judgement, but he was suitably good looking - an observation merely supported by his currently bare chest shining with sweat. She cleared her throat and waited for him to turn around, as men so often did for Naya, but he did not. He was entirely focused on his work. Naya would have been offended any other time, but his intensity was quite arousing, imagining him looking at her with the same ardour and passion as he did with his work.

Watching him work for a while, silent and waiting for him, she leaned back against a tabletop and folded her arms. Finally, he finished his piece - a vase of some sort - and placed it down on a rack. He turned and faced her. Her earlier assumption was entirely correct, for he was indeed extremely handsome. His eyes were a light green, and his skin was pale and freckled. Though, it was clear he did not have such positive opinions of her. As his gaze travelled up to her face, he began to look more and more uncomfortable - as if wishing he was away from her. She nodded at his greeting, and tried to allay whatever fears he might have, for whatever reason, with a greeting of her own. "I apologise, I merely wanted to see if you had any pendants for sale. I am Naya Snowsong, a resident here. I assume you are an Inarta?" She made to move towards him, trying to get him used to her company, treating him as she would a terrified kitten, but again he sprang away. Moving away to a shelf on the far wall, he wiped the sweat off of his forehead and muscled chest, and uneasily fastened his sword to his waist. There. Now he was armed and she was not. Perhaps it would become more easy between them now, for he certainly was good looking and a catch Naya would like to make.

She waited, tense. She needed to get him more comfortable around her, get him to open up, if she were going to make him another notch on her bed post - for that was surely her new aim. She forgot the pendant, she would treat herself to him instead.

[Fenilen]

A curious, red-haired eyebrow raised itself when the Vantha identified him as Inarta. She was, quite possibly, one of the few Vantha that had identified his origins that well by sight alone. Then again, according to everything every Vantha had told him, Inarta looked distinct. Whilst he thought they looked weird, disturbing, even unnerving with their hair, coming in various shades of black with highlights the color of the night lights in the sky, they said that his red, the color he had seen on the head of everyone who was not a Dek throughout his entire life, was in fact the unnatural and uncommon color. What were *they* thinking? *His* hair was not normal? Ugh, even the thought of all of the discussions he had had where people had fawned over his hair, asked him how he had gotten it to be such a color, irked him to no end, causing him to sigh slightly as he shook his head, sending his wispy hair flying in every which-way. Then, even *worse* were the conversations about his eyes! "How do your eyes stay one color?" they asked! It was not such an amazing feat! He didn't have to conscious make an effort towards it, like they seemed to be under the illusion he did, his eyes simply remained one color and that was how he was born, and, hopefully, how he would remain for the rest of his life!

With his mental rant over, his attention returned to the, as he soon realized, rather striking woman before him. If They had sent her to kill him, he thought, at least they had sent a woman of some beauty. Silently, he nodded, answering her question. "Yes yes, I am Inarta. I come from Wind Reach with the permission of the Valintar and the blessing of Priskil, Goddess of Light, Hope, Vigilance, and Skyinarta. I am here for the year, before I depart again. Certainly you must have seen the Wind Eagle land in the Menagerie on the Fifth? That was my contact with the Valintar," Fenilen said calmly and levelly. With that out of the way, he turned around, but just because his eyes were not on her did not mean his other senses were not. His ears listened to her, waiting for the slightest sound that she might be trying something, and if he got so much as a hint to it, he was ready to whip around and engage his enchanting assailant. He heard no such sounds. All he heard was the soft collaboration of their breathing and the scraping of the pendants against one another as he sifted through them, looking for one of suitable beauty for such a woman. Eventually, he found one that he was looking for.

It was a rather simple pendent, but sadly, that was all the duo here in Avanthal could really make. It was a flat plane, around a centimeter thick, with a singular hole piercing through it, a string of rope running through it for fastening it around one's neck. The ovular, clear glass pendant had flecks of many different colors running through it, varying in sizes throughout. Maganese-induced flecks of amethyst, cobalt-spawned dots of deep blue, Nickel-birthed freckles of burning violet. All in all, a plethora of different, beautiful colors could be observed inside of the piece, and in the end, that was why Fenilen had picked it out. It had been relatively easy to craft for Faycia, and he was certain if she came back in the morning, Faycia would be eager to take the money off of her hands for the item.

"The price tag on the pendent is ten pinio-" he caught himself mid-sentence, as he realized he was almost saying the price in the feather-printed, obsidian glass coin he missed so much. A slight sigh passed through his pursed lips as he caught himself and carried on with his sentence. "...ten golden rimmed mizas." How he HATED the way that word rolled off the tongue. It gave respect to nothing! And the coins themselves! So bland and aimless! Simply a coin with a golden rim and a fancy mark that they said was from one of the Gods-- ugh! He would never be able to tolerate that word for as long as he stayed here! Mental rant over, his eyes returned to her, as his head tilted to the right, sending his poofy, wild hair in every which-way.

It was as he looked into sky blue eyes that he decided that he needed to get closer to her. He could feel the cold nipping at his bones, feel the chill biting at his pale, exposed skin. How could he do it without coming across to strongly... Of course! The pendent! "Here, I shall let you try it on, Naya," Fenilen said to her sweetly. With that, he closed the gap between them, his bare feet padding silently on the wooden floor of the studio. His breathing came to a halt as he reached his arms around her neck, untying the rope. He looked up into the taller woman's eyes silently as he did so, biting his lip as he tugged at a particularly tight section of the knot, trying to liberate it so that he could retie it around her neck. When he finally did have to breathe, he did so through his nose, enjoying the sweet scent of unknown flowers that came to his nose. Scarred, calloused, burnt hands pressed lightly against the nape of her neck as he bit at his already chaffed lip, tying the rest of the knot, simply enjoying the feeling of her thick, full head of hair falling around his hands for a few, brief moments more before he retreated. The creeping guilt caused by the thoughts that prodded at the corners of his mind was quickly banished. As much as he missed Sairque, as much as he cared for her... A slight sigh left his lips, disguised as simple breathing as he turned grabbing a mirror from one of the shelves, holding it up for the beautiful customer before him. He would think about this later. Now was not the time to have thoughts about such things.

From behind the mirror, his head emerged, a small smile plastered across his lips. "Well? What do you think? I think it compliments your shifting eyes. It has all of their lovely colors. Especially the oranges, I particularly love those. They remind me of Priskil, and the Hope and Light she provides to all of us when we need it most," he smiled even more when he mentioned the Goddess, but his eyes never left hers, digging for whatever it was her mind was thinking about in regards to his actions or the pendent. He smoothed and wet his lips with a quick pass from his tongue. Something about the way she carried herself was familiar.

His gut told him this would take longer than he thought.

[Naya]

OOCI hate you. Your long posts always make me look fail

Naya chuckled as the man rambled on about his heritage. It was not as if Naya really needed to know much more than his name and his race. But no, he had to tell her that he was brought from Wind Reach, by the Valintar, on an eagle, with the blessing of some random goddess... The boy clearly had a propensity to ramble, and Naya disapproved of such an afflicition. Words held power, meaning, emotion. They could sway hearts, stir a man to war, make a grown man cry. Words were not to be wasted.

And the young man before her clearly was wasting his words. Though, as an Inarta, she was sure there was not such a culture in growing up, where they were taught from birth to ride eagles or something or other, not learning the valuable art of communication as the Vantha did. People spoke all around the world, but they did not ride eagles everywhere. It was clear which race had the better system.

She felt no need to return his useless babbling with more of her own, so she simply watched as he turned around and starting rustling through a box. The tinkle of glass emerged from it, so she assumed he was following up on her order. She wondered what sort of pendants the man would have for her - she never specified exactly what style she wanted. The man would either offer her something ugly and giant and overprice it, or he would miraculously figure her out to a T and find exactly what she wanted.

She took the opportunity of his turned back to finish checking him out. His back was riddled with taut muscles, and he went barefoot. His height made him move quite gracefully, daintily almost. The man's stance and posture was almost feminine, though on him it worked as attractive, not as emasculation. All the while, sweat still gleamed on his pale body - making him look all the more delicious to Naya.

The pendant he extended to her certainly was beautiful, and did indeed suit her. It was simple, plain glass with flecks of colour throughout it. Simple, but elegant. Naya had absolutely no clue how glassworkers managed to create such a piece of art. A piece of art it was, but certainly not worth ten mizas! Naya hated paying full price on anything. Perhaps she could get him to lower the price? Naya opened her mouth to disagree, though was prevented the opportunity as Fenilen kept talking. He was going to put it on for her. She smiled at him, quite seductively, and nodded slightly, allowing him to approach her.

The heat from his bare chest radiated, warming up her cooler body, as he slipped up behind her. She held her long dark hair to the side of her neck, lifting it up a little, allowing Fenilen to slink his hands down and around her neck. The cool glass pendant settled on her skin, just below her collarbones, and the chill of the glass radiated throughout the surrounding skin. The cold material was in battle with the warm, scarred hands of the Inarta, currently pressed up behind her. The callouses on his hand grazed along the softer skin of Naya's as they tied up the knot behind her neck. Her breath hitched as she heard a soft sigh from behind her, and turned around as he began speaking to her.

She smiled at him, letting her arms drop from her folded position to one dangling by her side, one arm resting on her hip, hip jutted out. "I love it. I'm not too sure about the oranges, and I don't know enough about Priskil to fully comment, but the colours certainly do remind me of my beloved Morwen's Lights." She smiled at him, and gestured at her cloak - as if asking if she could take it off. "Do you mind? It's a bit warm in here."

[Fenilen]

The smile that decorated his pale features only grew as she smiled back at him and her reflection, obviously enjoying the way the piece he had picked out complimented her ample physique. He had a way of choosing such things. Slowly, carefully, he tilted the mirror so it was horizontal once more, and slipped it back into the rack, humming under his breath as he did so, letting out a small sigh of relief as the expensive mirror made a satisfying click when its frame came into contact with the iron rack once more. His hands retracted, and then he returned to looking at Naya, observing her features as she commented on the piece. His eyes took in everything from the boots that hid her feet, shielding them from the cold of the world, to the clothed skin of her thighs, to her hips, one jutted out to the side as an attractive arm ran from her hip to her shoulder, which was bent back slightly. His green eyes flitted across her collar-bone, following the rope of the pendent down, but continuing down after it it reached the bottom. His eyes took in the curvature of her figure before it flowed into her hips, the flat plane that made up her stomach. Only then did his eyes drift back upwards, studying her long, graceful neck, one that carried the beautiful head that adorned it with pride and certainty. Her hair. Oh, her beautiful hair. It was so full and lustrous, like all of the Vantha's, but it still enamored him. The strands of silvery white, the shades of dark blue...

The words she chose broke him from his silence. Didn't know enough about Priskil!? Fenilen's jaw dropped as his green eyes honed in on her. If she didn't know about Priskil, then it was his duty to educate her, to put her on the path of the Righteous! Fenilen kicked into speaking, explaining to her the significance of the most important Goddess in the Pantheon. "Priskil is the Goddess of Light, Hope, and Vigilance! It is she who granted us with the Fire that we use to shape glass to our will, she who granted us the volcanoes such as my beloved Skyinarta, my home. She lives with her lover, Aquiras, in the Ukalas, nursing him back to health, as he was mortally wounded when my grandmother's grandmother was a babe. It is she who granted us the art that I practice, the art of shaping glass. She wove glass from the light that she created for the world, and whenever a mortal couple displayed the love for each other that she and Aquiras displayed for each other, she would descend from the Ukalas to grant a small piece of glass to them on their doorstep. The piece was said to symbolize their love, and if it were to break, it is said that so would their love, shattering into just as many pieces," Fenilen recited it all from his heart, as he had heard it hundreds of millions of times when he was learning the art of shaping glass.

After a brief silence, she made a quick gesture and spoke, asking if she could remove her own cloak. A simple shrug and a shake of his head, as if to say, "Go right ahead," found its way to her, a small smile in their company. She was obviously planning to stay a while, if she was stripping off her heavier, outdoor cloak already. Fenilen couldn't complain. Less between his skin and hers when they got close together. He watched with hungry eyes as she stripped off the outer layer of clothing, feeling the cold that was already nipping at his bones grow even more prominent. A slight shiver ran down his spine as goosebumps rose on his arms. When she finished, he turned around, moving a couple of boxes around on the shelves. "My apologies for the distracted demeanor, I have some things I need to finish tonight, lest Faycia take out her anger tomorrow," Fenilen purred softly, heaving a particularly heavy box off of one of the higher shelves. The muscles in his arms and back trembled as his knees bent, thighs slowly lifting his legs to methodically plod them one in front of the other, bringing him to the other end of the shelf, where he relieved himself of the heavy burden with a loud sigh. He then turned back to Naya, speaking softly, his soft lips forming out the Common words somewhat uncertainly.

"Whenever I work glass, I give thanks to Priskil for granting us the beautiful material. Of course, there are things more beautiful. By things I mean people... People like you," he gave a small smile, as if he were testing the waters around the subject of flirting. "Sorry for going around without a shirt. I know it's not... common, in Avanthal," he said simply, shrugging. "In Skyinarta, the heat of the volcano is against our backs at all times, even in the midst of winter. While the world outside is freezing, we have the heat of the fiery rock, turned liquid, granted to us by Priskil, at our back, keeping us warm. I try to..." he racked his brain for the words, furrowing his pale brow as he licked his lips yet again. "get back into the element of my home when I work here. The furnaces are reminiscent of the heat of the mountain. It is the closest I can get to that comfort," he tried to clarify. Silently, he put his back against the wall, leaning so that it was all that was holding him up, letting his green eyes soak in her form once again.

It was funny, how much of an opposite she was from what he normally found striking. Whereas Faycia was definitively effeminate in her appearance, this woman, Naya, was different. She was heavier-set, but she wasn't overweight, wasn't even fat in the slightest. No, he didn't know what it was about her. There was just something in the way she moved, the way she spoke, something alluring, something teasingly enticing. This was definitely going to take longer than he thought.

[Naya]

Ugh. :

I give up on long posts.

She smiled at the boy as his eyes drank in her body. Boy she called him, for boy he certainly was. He was only a couple of years younger than she, she was sure -but there was certainly something child like about this one, something about him that took in the world about him with wide-eyes and excitement, the sort of demeanor you would only find in a child. The way his eyes devoured her was the only thing that dispelled this child image in her mind. She doubted he could see the self-satisfied smile on her face, but nonetheless, it was there. His fixation on her hair interested her... a quirk of his that she noted. It could come in handy. Swinging her hair over one shoulder, she combed her fingers through it and hoped for a reaction.

Naya's ice blue eyes zoned in on his green ones as he began to ramble on about Priskil. She regretted making a comment about ignorance, for she did not usually do that and it was unclear exactly why she did so now. She was irritated that Naya had changed the subject, albeit inadvertently, and was sure the rambling story he had embarked on would have no relevance to anything. She suddenly wished she was somewhere else.

Though, she was a story teller. It was her job. While she may not think what the boy was saying was particularly interesting, others might. And adding one more story to the collection could never do any harm. So, she listened carefully, taking mental notes on each aspect of the story, appreciating herself the somewhat skillful way he told it. Light, Hope and Vigilance, he said? Seemed somewhat fanciful and impractical to her. Surely there were better things to focus on, things that would actually get you somewhere. Hope was a useless emotion - hoping Hayere would miraculously come back to life for instance. What did hope do? Things happened the way they did with or without hope. The story, too, of a goddess giving people glass stuff because they seemed to have affection for eachother? Waste of time, believing in that. Besides, a couple didn't need some tangible token to prove "love" for each other - not that Naya believed in love, at least not for herself - surely they just loved? It was a pretty story to be sure, but not in the least useful. Naya would have said something, but she had the feeling he wouldn't be too happy with any objection to the story he clearly put so much stock by.

She almost laughed aloud at the attempted nonchalance from the boy before her. Slowly raising her hands up to her throat, she unclasped the cloak and let it fall from her shoulders slowly. Draping it over her left arm, she rubbed her right hand over her collar bone and sternum, as if glad of the lessened weight. Her hand drifted teasingly over the skin. This tactic almost always worked. She hoped it would on him. She laughed lightly, not actually finding anything he said amusing, but hoping her laugh would recommend herself to him. Watching his trembling back and muscles as he bent down certainly had an effect on her - but she knew it was all on purpose. She gave the impression of being more affected than she actually was. "No, that's okay. If she does yell at you, however, you can always come to me for comfort." She winked at him, licking her lips. "Is there anywhere I can put my cloak down?"

The beautiful material? She was more beautiful than the glass he worked with on a daily basis? She was skeptical. So, he was a sweet flirter - one of the men who flirted by being lovely and nice and the perfect man. Naya often got irritated by the insincerity of these men, but there was something about the innocence of this boy that Naya had to get at. Choosing to ignore the beautiful comment, she listened to the rest of his ramble, laughing at one point. "It's okay, I don't really mind the no shirt thing. In fact, I rather enjoy it." Realising something, she spoke again. "You never told me your name! You know that I am Naya Snowsong, a Vantha. I know that you are an Inarta. So, handsome firehair, what are you known as?"

[Fenilen]

She did indeed raise a reaction out of the poor, enamored boy when she tossed her hair over her shoulder, running her fingers through it, separating the few strands that had become entangled in the short time they had been communicating. A small sigh left his lips, a quick huff of air that blew out over the pale, chaffed gates that provided entrance to his mouth. Green eyes drank in the sight of her running her long, elegant fingers through her lustrous hair, through the black locks, run through with strands of dark blue and silver. Then, she finally slipped out of the cloak as she had said she would, advertising the semi-permanence of her residence-- at least for the moment. He traced the every movement of her hand helplessly, watching as tanned fingers dragged across the skin of her chest, the skin of her lower neck and long, gracefully-built collar.

Her return flirting was what was the final nail in his coffin. She openly played with him at that point, telling him that if he were ever to find discomfort, he could find comfort in her-- what he imagined as loving and quite warm-- arms. Fenilen caught the movements of her head and face only out of the corner of his vision, and then shot his glance up to focus more intently on them, studying her as she licked her lips, winked her ever-shifting eyes, and then shot another question at him. She really *was* planning on staying a while. He would welcome her with open arms. Fenilen approached with a slight nod, liberating the cloak from her arm, smiling at her as he came close, breathing in her scent again, the scent of unknown flowers. When he parted, he did so just as longingly, if not moreso, than he had the first time, dashing across the room, slipping the cloak onto the rack in the corner of the studio. Once it was secure in its position, he returned, not spending a second more than he needed to one any one task, eager to be back with the predatory woman, the woman who, he was beginning to realize, reminded him somewhat of Faycia, despite their differences in physical appearance.

A slight purr of delight left his lips as she admitted that she quite liked the fact he bore no shirt, but he cast a slightly suspicious gaze down upon his own chest, as if inspecting what she found so attractive. He was fairly average, not particularly muscular. Not too fit, but not unfit. He had lived a rough life in Wind Reach, and it showed in the scars, from burns and cuts, that decorated his pale chest. Well, if she found it attractive, it's not like he was going to complain. He was freezing. He needed her warmth. He inched slightly closer to her, tilting his head curiously as he asked him for his name despite the fact he had already readily provided her with it in the first few lines of their conversation. He did, however, enjoy, and slightly relish, the fact that she called him handsome. Compliments did wonders for his occasionally lacking ego. "Provided you with a name, I did. I am Fenilen," he reminded, his grammar dying somewhat as he grasped at threads of words that were fading away as she enamored his feeble mind more and more with her practiced tricks and routines.

It was time to try a trick or two of his own on her. While he was nowhere near as practiced, and this was definitely not a part of his routine, he would find a way to make this work. Subtly, he moved his sword from his hip, placing it back on the shelf. He inched closer to her, until only a few inches separated them at every point-- hips, faces, chests. He looked her over once more, honing in on her eyes as he spoke, his head tilted ever so slightly, his own eyes half-lidded, as he resisted the urge of his body to wrap his arms around her and pull her close for warmth. Quick movements brought him behind her, where he brought his lips near to her ear. Quietly, he whispered to her, getting as close to her ear as he could without disturbing her. He did not want such a beautiful catch running. "Perhaps we should add actions to the face, leave it... imprinted in your mind, so that you do not forget so easily," he chirped quietly at the end of his sentence, something sounding sort of like a purr, but too bird-like. Either way, she could immediately tell it was because he was proud of himself.

"I am cold, Naya," he complained, still whispering to her, bringing himself even closer to her, so that he was almost pressing against her. He breathed through his nose with ever breath, just to get that scent of hers. "I am freezing. Avanthal is freezing. Nothing here is warm enough... Nothing but the people. I need warmth. Will you help me?" His voice was lilting, enticingly seductive, but it was obvious he was a minion of powers greater than him. He was a minion of both his lust and his hatred of his eternal cold. But, that didn't mean he wasn't enjoying this.

[Naya]

She nearly laughed at the way he watched her trace her hands along her chest. It was not even at a point where he could see any of her skin, and he already was within her grasps. The longer she traced her skin, the more his eyes watched and the further and further he sunk into her grasp. Naya was pleased - the innocent boy with the older seductress? Would certainly be an experience to boast about in the tavern the following night.

The laughter bubbled over to a certain extent as he looked down at his chest, as if confused she could like such a build. She felt bad, evidently the Inarta boy had some self esteem issues, given the dubious look he cast over himself. Naya disagreed with his own silent disagreement, and did not hesitate to tell him that. "Hey, boy. Don't look so down on yourself. You have a great body." And that he did. His chest was built, though not overly so - not in a pretentious 'look at me I'm so strong' way. His chest was riddled with small scars, adding to the mystery and sexual appeal of this boy. The sweat only served to add to the purely masculine image painted before her - an image that was only marred by the pure innocence that was evidenced whenever he opened his mouth. The contradiction was extremely appealing to Naya. She was sure he was going to realise that by the end of tonight.

The boy tilted his head, and it was with a waiting relish that Naya waited to see exactly what he would have to say. Her heart sunk as, in his broken Common, he tried to convey that she had already been told his name. If it were not for his ready providence of his name a second time, she would have been sure she had lost the chase, and so lost the man. Thankfully, he told her his name once more. "Fenilen, I apologise I forgot your name. I have to admit I have been ... distracted from the moment I stepped into this workshop, and into your presence."

His actions reassured her that he was not displeased. It was with a heavy dose of satisfaction and pride in her abilities that she watched him edge close towards her, closer and closer, until she could see the sweat glistening on his chest within inches of her body, and feel the warmth of his body heat against hers. She listened to his words with an amused, seductive smile as he suggested action to accompany the words. She was pretty sure what actions would be implemented, a suspicion that was only enhanced by his complaints of coldness and lack of warmth. "Fenilen dear, I would be all too happy to warm you up. But if only I knew how? You'll have to lead me in this, handsome." She hoped he would take the reins on this one. It had been so long since she had been with a controlling man, and she longed for it.

[Cheshire]

. Character: Fenilen Experience: Glassworking +2, Seduction +3, Teaching +1 Lore: Glassblowing By Blood, Art of Making a Vase, Praying to Priskil, Mentally Stuck in Wind Reach, Spreading the Good Word of Priskil Additional Note: Oh Fenilen and his adorable attempts with women. Great thread! PM me with concerns.