"Which leads back to the more pertinent issue of the merger here and the fallout of when Riona manages to escape. We'll have Pride's brutes and Amaxi's creations at our door," summarized Meris. "With the trial occurring a few weeks from now, we still have a bit of time, but we should try to have some sort of plan in place. It's going to be chaos, so we need a concentrated effort to defend ourselves with."
***
Aislinn smiled and gently ran her fingers over his scalp, her facial expression one of sultriness and thoughtfulness. "I think you just answered your own question. Your desire to allow our relationship to develop on its own, without trying to confine it to what would be typical for an incubus is key here. You wanted freedom, so that unconsciously pushed you to search for someone who would be able to fit with that criteria."
She leaned forward slightly to kiss him on top of his head. "I want to take that risk with you- for us. I'm your companion on this journey," she declared. "To forge bonds that would be alien to most of your kin. True bonds of family and friendship."
Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
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TennyoCeres84
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Tom's gestures grew more languid and heated, that newfound earnestness of his meeting against his lust and giving his gestures a fittingly ceremonial gravitas. As he kissed the lower half of her abdomen and freed himself with one hand, he gave the roane a look that spoke of so much more than lust. As much of a ritual as this might be, part of him wanted it to be a gift - a nonverbal declaration of his utter and complete commitment.
And so, as he slipped into her, Tom gave Aislinn a longing and gentle look bursting at the seams with fondness and meaning. An old word, all in Middle-Eastern rhotics, left his lips in a whisper as he brought himself at a level with her.
"Beloved," he translated, "my Better Half... I give myself to you."
For the moment, Tom was slow. Slow, shivering with his incubus' premature sensory bliss, and constantly adding more to his own burden. He didn't keep it for himself, however, and soon, Aislinn would feel unusual waves of bliss spread throughout her body - even in corners you wouldn't have traditionally thought to be erogenous. It was a low, controlled surge - designed to carry the sense of Tom's own perceptions of pleasure without overwhelming Aislinn's largely humanoid sensory capabilities. Still, the results might be odd for the young woman.
Slowly, her scalp's skin would attain an odd sense of presence, her arms and torso's epidermis singing along the lines traces by Tom's points of contact. The normally deadened swaths underneath her fingernails sang an oddly pleasurable sensory hymn, surging and receding along with her own heartbeat. Her gums tingled, Aislinn's own tongue somehow managing to send tiny pleasurable barbs across the lower half of her face. As her eyelids rubbed against her eyeballs, an ineffable warmth surged deep within her own skull.
Every draft a caress, every taste a kiss. The purples and yellows of the warthog like tender fingers caressing her optic centers, even the most involuntary of their produced sounds carrying notions of perfection.
Slowly. Tenderly. Patiently.
Tom was a mound of bliss slipping over or underneath her, both climaxes delayed far beyond what should've been normally possible. That was what an incubus could do, if motivated by a nascent love. No torment, no overriding carnal surges, no Grand Guignol theater of the flesh - nothing except devotion translated as a sensory symphony. There was no crest to nauseatingly rise up to, no need to transition into torture - nothing except the tiniest infusion of Hellfire keeping Aislinn's heart and breath steady and her brain, receptive. Bliss would almost feel like an oculus of sorts - or a lens through which the selkie would still be able to make cogent observations. It might make for a strange sensation, but it certainly wouldn't be an unpleasant one.
Alongside whatever it is she might intuit, McConmara might realize that her beau was in the exact same state - walking the paths of that high plateau of perceptible pleasure, delighting in the ways in which they did or didn't touch. Whether he was in or outside of her didn't matter, and he seemed to be in no rush to push things to where the gates he'd warned Aislinn about would break.
For now, the Id was still under wraps. These were memories he intended to keep as clear as possible, then - one last bookend before the dangerous plunge.
Slowly. Tenderly. Patiently.
While Tom's mind couldn't yet speak love's language, his body had mastered it unbeknownst to his own spirit. So had his heart. Both were unmistakably clear.
It might've been hard to imagine anything like a coherent spell arising out of this - but it was there, if only Aislinn spared a moment to feel for the edges of the room. The circle had been closed before they'd begun, and now the low sympathetic current of their connections to the local ley lines hummed in the air, allowing for tiny static electricity discharges along the room's few steel or chromed accents. Small pops and clicks filled the edges of her hearing spectrum, tiny greenish sparks leaping upwards and away into nothingness - off of the door's handle or the armoire's knobs, surging along the window dressings' supporting poles.
* * *
Vernon nodded. "The first order of business is for us to coordinate with FEMA. We must agree on housing arrangements for any refugees to follow."
Spector had pulled out a smartphone and thumbed away on it. "Agreed - and initialized. Evergloam's two largest buildings are your respective Courts. The Lady's is more convenient, being directly connected to the mortal plane through the Greenvale. Yours, sir?"
Haskill grunted. "Yes, I'm still operating off of the Shivering Quarter in Evergloam. The needs of the many, after all. The local Winter faithful would react poorly to my not living among the diaspora, even close to two years after the MacHae debacle..."
Spector nodded. "That needs to change now, Milord. You need a palpable address in Hope that transitions into a Court-worthy banquet hall or ballroom - or a mansion of your own. It's not about ostentation, at this point - I'm thinking in terms of foldable cots and water bottle pallets per square inch."
Vernon obviously agreed. "I'd eat my hat and gloves if it would save lives, so you'll get no complaints from me. We need to find a means to bypass the outcry, however. I can't go from being perceived as a Populist figure among the local Winter Fae to having a gated lot without prior preparation, and an official declaration of Lordship. For the nonce, I'm nothing except a palliative placed in America to soothe Rhode Island's distrust of the Winter folk."
Naber smiled. "That's where Meris comes in, I believe. From Queen to Queen, I daresay an audience could be arranged.
- That's fine, but neither the King or Queen can leave the palace," reminded Spector.
Naber looked vaguely miffed. "So call upon them, my dear Archduke. Have them expect my own Queen," he said, glancing at Meris, "and the fireplace will do the rest."
Spector looked at the hearth and then back to the dog, Bugbear, Animate and roane.
"You've all watched way too many Harry Potter reruns," he said, scoffing.
And so, as he slipped into her, Tom gave Aislinn a longing and gentle look bursting at the seams with fondness and meaning. An old word, all in Middle-Eastern rhotics, left his lips in a whisper as he brought himself at a level with her.
"Beloved," he translated, "my Better Half... I give myself to you."
For the moment, Tom was slow. Slow, shivering with his incubus' premature sensory bliss, and constantly adding more to his own burden. He didn't keep it for himself, however, and soon, Aislinn would feel unusual waves of bliss spread throughout her body - even in corners you wouldn't have traditionally thought to be erogenous. It was a low, controlled surge - designed to carry the sense of Tom's own perceptions of pleasure without overwhelming Aislinn's largely humanoid sensory capabilities. Still, the results might be odd for the young woman.
Slowly, her scalp's skin would attain an odd sense of presence, her arms and torso's epidermis singing along the lines traces by Tom's points of contact. The normally deadened swaths underneath her fingernails sang an oddly pleasurable sensory hymn, surging and receding along with her own heartbeat. Her gums tingled, Aislinn's own tongue somehow managing to send tiny pleasurable barbs across the lower half of her face. As her eyelids rubbed against her eyeballs, an ineffable warmth surged deep within her own skull.
Every draft a caress, every taste a kiss. The purples and yellows of the warthog like tender fingers caressing her optic centers, even the most involuntary of their produced sounds carrying notions of perfection.
Slowly. Tenderly. Patiently.
Tom was a mound of bliss slipping over or underneath her, both climaxes delayed far beyond what should've been normally possible. That was what an incubus could do, if motivated by a nascent love. No torment, no overriding carnal surges, no Grand Guignol theater of the flesh - nothing except devotion translated as a sensory symphony. There was no crest to nauseatingly rise up to, no need to transition into torture - nothing except the tiniest infusion of Hellfire keeping Aislinn's heart and breath steady and her brain, receptive. Bliss would almost feel like an oculus of sorts - or a lens through which the selkie would still be able to make cogent observations. It might make for a strange sensation, but it certainly wouldn't be an unpleasant one.
Alongside whatever it is she might intuit, McConmara might realize that her beau was in the exact same state - walking the paths of that high plateau of perceptible pleasure, delighting in the ways in which they did or didn't touch. Whether he was in or outside of her didn't matter, and he seemed to be in no rush to push things to where the gates he'd warned Aislinn about would break.
For now, the Id was still under wraps. These were memories he intended to keep as clear as possible, then - one last bookend before the dangerous plunge.
Slowly. Tenderly. Patiently.
While Tom's mind couldn't yet speak love's language, his body had mastered it unbeknownst to his own spirit. So had his heart. Both were unmistakably clear.
It might've been hard to imagine anything like a coherent spell arising out of this - but it was there, if only Aislinn spared a moment to feel for the edges of the room. The circle had been closed before they'd begun, and now the low sympathetic current of their connections to the local ley lines hummed in the air, allowing for tiny static electricity discharges along the room's few steel or chromed accents. Small pops and clicks filled the edges of her hearing spectrum, tiny greenish sparks leaping upwards and away into nothingness - off of the door's handle or the armoire's knobs, surging along the window dressings' supporting poles.
* * *
Vernon nodded. "The first order of business is for us to coordinate with FEMA. We must agree on housing arrangements for any refugees to follow."
Spector had pulled out a smartphone and thumbed away on it. "Agreed - and initialized. Evergloam's two largest buildings are your respective Courts. The Lady's is more convenient, being directly connected to the mortal plane through the Greenvale. Yours, sir?"
Haskill grunted. "Yes, I'm still operating off of the Shivering Quarter in Evergloam. The needs of the many, after all. The local Winter faithful would react poorly to my not living among the diaspora, even close to two years after the MacHae debacle..."
Spector nodded. "That needs to change now, Milord. You need a palpable address in Hope that transitions into a Court-worthy banquet hall or ballroom - or a mansion of your own. It's not about ostentation, at this point - I'm thinking in terms of foldable cots and water bottle pallets per square inch."
Vernon obviously agreed. "I'd eat my hat and gloves if it would save lives, so you'll get no complaints from me. We need to find a means to bypass the outcry, however. I can't go from being perceived as a Populist figure among the local Winter Fae to having a gated lot without prior preparation, and an official declaration of Lordship. For the nonce, I'm nothing except a palliative placed in America to soothe Rhode Island's distrust of the Winter folk."
Naber smiled. "That's where Meris comes in, I believe. From Queen to Queen, I daresay an audience could be arranged.
- That's fine, but neither the King or Queen can leave the palace," reminded Spector.
Naber looked vaguely miffed. "So call upon them, my dear Archduke. Have them expect my own Queen," he said, glancing at Meris, "and the fireplace will do the rest."
Spector looked at the hearth and then back to the dog, Bugbear, Animate and roane.
"You've all watched way too many Harry Potter reruns," he said, scoffing.
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Now Aislinn knew from the incubus' earlier statement of how he'd make her nerves sing. It made every carnal encounter she' had ever experienced pale in comparison, and it was far deeper than she could have ever comprehended prior to it actually happening.
His words sank into her heart and mind, giving her the sense that they were a verbal indicator of what was to transpire, an oath of everlasting commitment.
The slow, languid sensation of her whole body's nervous system being smoothly cranked up was wholly unexpected and certainly strange. Her scalp felt little zaps and shocks that carried an incredibly pleasant feeling, almost like a symphony that moved pleasure through her gums and the rest of her mouth. The elevated sensuality of it traveled down her neck to her arms, torso, and legs. Even her fingernails seemed tuned into this completely perfect melody, leaving her as delighted gasps.
The roane could sense the minute spark of Hellfire gently cradling her heart and lungs, keeping them at a normal rhythm rather than be overloaded by it all. Every single touch and motion was a delicate, yet powerful musical note across her body. She'd probably be later tempted to compare it to the high-pitched and harmonious song associated with angels, bards, and cantors. It struck something primal yet ever so pure.
Simultaneously, she could feel Tom's own pleasure matched with her own. Devotion shared between equal partners, mind, body, and soul. What she felt and observed seemed like a fluid dance meant to temporarily join them and assimilate with one another, while it would leave a strong and present memory of who Tom was and the pleasure they had together. There was no sudden or sharp rise similar to what she was used to, but a euphoric cocoon that extended far longer in perception and time.
The emerald sparks of the growing spell caught her attention, her peripheral vision seeing the tiny lights ascend and dissipate from the furniture and area around them. It was like the room was coming alive with their combined sensations and and weaving a poetic incantation unlike any she had the distinction of knowing.
***
The notion of appearing before Oberon and Titania took the Heiress aback some, leaving to eye her right hand man with a certain amount of disbelief. Meris couldn't help but smile incredulously, albeit not in a disagreeing manner. Diplomatic speaking went hand in hand with being a Queen; the century-long pseudo-ruse had taught her that.
She chuckled at Spector's remark. "Well, portals through fireplaces seem like the least surprising thing to occur today, Archduke. At least it has more atmosphere than being transported through a custodian's closet to a palace," she noted with amusement, remembering her first trip there.
Still, she was somewhat perplexed at this audience she would be having and looked over at the Steward. "Is my speaking with the King and Queen supposed to aid credibility to our mission and procure Lord Haskill the needed real estate to be used later?" she asked.
His words sank into her heart and mind, giving her the sense that they were a verbal indicator of what was to transpire, an oath of everlasting commitment.
The slow, languid sensation of her whole body's nervous system being smoothly cranked up was wholly unexpected and certainly strange. Her scalp felt little zaps and shocks that carried an incredibly pleasant feeling, almost like a symphony that moved pleasure through her gums and the rest of her mouth. The elevated sensuality of it traveled down her neck to her arms, torso, and legs. Even her fingernails seemed tuned into this completely perfect melody, leaving her as delighted gasps.
The roane could sense the minute spark of Hellfire gently cradling her heart and lungs, keeping them at a normal rhythm rather than be overloaded by it all. Every single touch and motion was a delicate, yet powerful musical note across her body. She'd probably be later tempted to compare it to the high-pitched and harmonious song associated with angels, bards, and cantors. It struck something primal yet ever so pure.
Simultaneously, she could feel Tom's own pleasure matched with her own. Devotion shared between equal partners, mind, body, and soul. What she felt and observed seemed like a fluid dance meant to temporarily join them and assimilate with one another, while it would leave a strong and present memory of who Tom was and the pleasure they had together. There was no sudden or sharp rise similar to what she was used to, but a euphoric cocoon that extended far longer in perception and time.
The emerald sparks of the growing spell caught her attention, her peripheral vision seeing the tiny lights ascend and dissipate from the furniture and area around them. It was like the room was coming alive with their combined sensations and and weaving a poetic incantation unlike any she had the distinction of knowing.
***
The notion of appearing before Oberon and Titania took the Heiress aback some, leaving to eye her right hand man with a certain amount of disbelief. Meris couldn't help but smile incredulously, albeit not in a disagreeing manner. Diplomatic speaking went hand in hand with being a Queen; the century-long pseudo-ruse had taught her that.
She chuckled at Spector's remark. "Well, portals through fireplaces seem like the least surprising thing to occur today, Archduke. At least it has more atmosphere than being transported through a custodian's closet to a palace," she noted with amusement, remembering her first trip there.
Still, she was somewhat perplexed at this audience she would be having and looked over at the Steward. "Is my speaking with the King and Queen supposed to aid credibility to our mission and procure Lord Haskill the needed real estate to be used later?" she asked.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Tom then guided the both of them a few plateaus of bliss lower, gently repositioning both himself and Aislinn into a more sustainable pace, and supported her back with one hand as another worked one of her thighs - less out of erotic concerns, this time, and more out of a desire to counter any lactic acid build-up. They were still making love, but the incubus' ministrations had the effects of a massage, now.
"I'm going to let go, now," he warned, panting slightly. "I'm going to sink - and I wanted you to be loose and ready by the time I would..."
For the moment, there wasn't much more than this: Tom keeping Aislinn in a seated position atop him, nose to snout, arms entwined, both of their hips working in unison, albeit at a slow and conservative pace - keeping their climaxes at bay with careful pauses. Then, as Tom's eyes closed and a grunt escaped him, his rhythm grew slightly more pronounced and broke away from Aislinn's. He slowly guided her down to her back; something to his focus now seeming increasingly single-minded. The caresses ended, sustained bliss dissipated, leaving Aislinn with the increasing sense that Tom's emerging Id didn't have it in his mind to share. Flat warmth surged between their legs, all textures removed.
The incubus briefly parted from her to stretch, the yawn that followed having an almost feline sort of selfishness. His voice shifted as he did, going from Tom's smoky bass to something more nasal, scratchier in tone. It wasn't Quint, it wasn't Tom - it was what Tom had spent thousands of years hiding away underneath all his cultivated civility and care for others.
He opened his eyes. They were uniformly black, now. He smiled, the gesture promising no kindness to speak of.
"After thousands of years," he said, "he finally gives in - and leaves me with a delectable morsel... Oh, how utterly perfect."
He leaned in and gave Aislinn a torturous hickey on the right side of her neck, the pain sharp and brief. Then came his warthog's tongue, now far from as tender as it had been. Slimy drool coated her right cheek as he licked her, moaning as he did.
"I'm going to ravage you, my sweet," he said. "Then I'll take to the apartments below to dine on his friends..."
He snorted lustfully. "Past that? Oh, I'll take to your friends at Holden Hall, and leave them raw, moist and weak," he said, then parting with a mean, snorting chuckle, "and then - your siblings and parents. I'll sup on the lawyer and the Goat, on our dearest progenitor and all the wretches in the Pit. The planes will merge, alright - but all will fall under my lust. That fearsome bitch from beyond the stars you're so focused against? I'll grind Her to dust and I'll have Her ask for more."
He sighed. "But you, my offering and throne? Oh, you deserve all the pain. All the pain, all the pleasure, and all the flesh."
The now-fallen incubus gave her a forceful, noisy and sloppy kiss - filled with his utter disregard for her and ceaseless hunger for her. "You're mine, now. I can see into his mind - the ritual he believed would break me. You'll fail. All those like you, who tried to contain other demons with love, have failed. What makes you think I'll be any different?"
Another mean chuckle. "Oh, but I always adored naivete... That alone earns you a death awash in the more tender of my arts. You're much too precious to him to waste on anything as pedestrian as pain. You'll have none of it for now, but I'll keep you in your husk once I'll be done - make you sing to their pain as I'll cover them in spoor and blood..."
Pleasure then slowly bloomed again - but the intent of it was clear, now. If Tom had precisely modulated his input, the now unshackled incubus wouldn't give her such a luxury. Bliss would tear through her within an hour or two at the most, taxing her heart and lungs to the point of collapse, forcing her brain into seizure and shutdown. He'd work her until exhaustion would kill her.
Of course, in the immediate, Aislinn's mind was still her own. She could still act, could still carry out her part of the ritual. However, her body was definitely sending eloquent signs: she was on the clock, starting now.
* * *
"Plainly speaking," agreed Naberius, "yes. You'd kill two birds with one stone: first of all, Hope has precious little time to waste on the Winter contingents mulling dear old Vernon's prospects over. The Fae of all major cities have always needed a Summer and Winter Lord or Lady each, and we're within weeks of potentially needing to share our everyday lives with demons or other stripes of risen dead. Protocol has lost all usefulness, at this point, and the Lady's attraction to Lord Haskill speaks plainly: he already is a good fit for Hope.
Secondly, we need the floor space. Your own fortifications could shelter refugees, true, but not all denizens will be able to reach either yourself or Holden Hall in time, once the invasion begins. The previous norm in the case of catastrophic events involved both Courts opening their floors for Commoner and mortal alike to rush to, should they stand as the nearest available shelter."
Benson grunted. "Helps that Machae never had the cash to claim Frosthall for himself. The Shivering Quarter's basically a Winter community center established in Summer lands. Works great for administrative meetings or cultural enrichment programs - not that much when there's cots, water and food to distribute."
Spector interjected. "Machae wasn't authorized to claim Frosthall because it's in almost direct convergence with Holden Hall. We didn't want a brat like him popping in or out of Holden's broom closets or spoiling operations for the local vigilante group, so we artificially raised both the price and the required Mantle - and dislodged it from Faerie's immediate layers to prevent him or his cronies from squatting. The King and Queen won't need much convincing to restore the base land values. I have it on good authority it was one of Machae's many cited gripes in siding with Mab and Amaxi."
Haskill snarled. "Such a child, honestly... I've known Winter Lords who worked out of beige cubicles with barely a few spots of gold trimming to call their own!
- Yep," agreed Benson, "but that reaction of yours speaks volumes, Milord. We'd leave Frosthall in capable hands - and with someone who'd maybe slip into Holden Hall to ask for printer paper or a cup of sugar, at the most."
That prospect piqued Vernon's interest, however. "Could this mean we could work in closer proximity to the local Knights?"
Eirean shrugged. "That'd be nice, seeing what's ahead of us."
"I'm going to let go, now," he warned, panting slightly. "I'm going to sink - and I wanted you to be loose and ready by the time I would..."
For the moment, there wasn't much more than this: Tom keeping Aislinn in a seated position atop him, nose to snout, arms entwined, both of their hips working in unison, albeit at a slow and conservative pace - keeping their climaxes at bay with careful pauses. Then, as Tom's eyes closed and a grunt escaped him, his rhythm grew slightly more pronounced and broke away from Aislinn's. He slowly guided her down to her back; something to his focus now seeming increasingly single-minded. The caresses ended, sustained bliss dissipated, leaving Aislinn with the increasing sense that Tom's emerging Id didn't have it in his mind to share. Flat warmth surged between their legs, all textures removed.
The incubus briefly parted from her to stretch, the yawn that followed having an almost feline sort of selfishness. His voice shifted as he did, going from Tom's smoky bass to something more nasal, scratchier in tone. It wasn't Quint, it wasn't Tom - it was what Tom had spent thousands of years hiding away underneath all his cultivated civility and care for others.
He opened his eyes. They were uniformly black, now. He smiled, the gesture promising no kindness to speak of.
"After thousands of years," he said, "he finally gives in - and leaves me with a delectable morsel... Oh, how utterly perfect."
He leaned in and gave Aislinn a torturous hickey on the right side of her neck, the pain sharp and brief. Then came his warthog's tongue, now far from as tender as it had been. Slimy drool coated her right cheek as he licked her, moaning as he did.
"I'm going to ravage you, my sweet," he said. "Then I'll take to the apartments below to dine on his friends..."
He snorted lustfully. "Past that? Oh, I'll take to your friends at Holden Hall, and leave them raw, moist and weak," he said, then parting with a mean, snorting chuckle, "and then - your siblings and parents. I'll sup on the lawyer and the Goat, on our dearest progenitor and all the wretches in the Pit. The planes will merge, alright - but all will fall under my lust. That fearsome bitch from beyond the stars you're so focused against? I'll grind Her to dust and I'll have Her ask for more."
He sighed. "But you, my offering and throne? Oh, you deserve all the pain. All the pain, all the pleasure, and all the flesh."
The now-fallen incubus gave her a forceful, noisy and sloppy kiss - filled with his utter disregard for her and ceaseless hunger for her. "You're mine, now. I can see into his mind - the ritual he believed would break me. You'll fail. All those like you, who tried to contain other demons with love, have failed. What makes you think I'll be any different?"
Another mean chuckle. "Oh, but I always adored naivete... That alone earns you a death awash in the more tender of my arts. You're much too precious to him to waste on anything as pedestrian as pain. You'll have none of it for now, but I'll keep you in your husk once I'll be done - make you sing to their pain as I'll cover them in spoor and blood..."
Pleasure then slowly bloomed again - but the intent of it was clear, now. If Tom had precisely modulated his input, the now unshackled incubus wouldn't give her such a luxury. Bliss would tear through her within an hour or two at the most, taxing her heart and lungs to the point of collapse, forcing her brain into seizure and shutdown. He'd work her until exhaustion would kill her.
Of course, in the immediate, Aislinn's mind was still her own. She could still act, could still carry out her part of the ritual. However, her body was definitely sending eloquent signs: she was on the clock, starting now.
* * *
"Plainly speaking," agreed Naberius, "yes. You'd kill two birds with one stone: first of all, Hope has precious little time to waste on the Winter contingents mulling dear old Vernon's prospects over. The Fae of all major cities have always needed a Summer and Winter Lord or Lady each, and we're within weeks of potentially needing to share our everyday lives with demons or other stripes of risen dead. Protocol has lost all usefulness, at this point, and the Lady's attraction to Lord Haskill speaks plainly: he already is a good fit for Hope.
Secondly, we need the floor space. Your own fortifications could shelter refugees, true, but not all denizens will be able to reach either yourself or Holden Hall in time, once the invasion begins. The previous norm in the case of catastrophic events involved both Courts opening their floors for Commoner and mortal alike to rush to, should they stand as the nearest available shelter."
Benson grunted. "Helps that Machae never had the cash to claim Frosthall for himself. The Shivering Quarter's basically a Winter community center established in Summer lands. Works great for administrative meetings or cultural enrichment programs - not that much when there's cots, water and food to distribute."
Spector interjected. "Machae wasn't authorized to claim Frosthall because it's in almost direct convergence with Holden Hall. We didn't want a brat like him popping in or out of Holden's broom closets or spoiling operations for the local vigilante group, so we artificially raised both the price and the required Mantle - and dislodged it from Faerie's immediate layers to prevent him or his cronies from squatting. The King and Queen won't need much convincing to restore the base land values. I have it on good authority it was one of Machae's many cited gripes in siding with Mab and Amaxi."
Haskill snarled. "Such a child, honestly... I've known Winter Lords who worked out of beige cubicles with barely a few spots of gold trimming to call their own!
- Yep," agreed Benson, "but that reaction of yours speaks volumes, Milord. We'd leave Frosthall in capable hands - and with someone who'd maybe slip into Holden Hall to ask for printer paper or a cup of sugar, at the most."
That prospect piqued Vernon's interest, however. "Could this mean we could work in closer proximity to the local Knights?"
Eirean shrugged. "That'd be nice, seeing what's ahead of us."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Returning from such a wonderful experience had left the selkie in a bit of a daze, but the removal of her beau with the replacement of his Id ripped her from it. She had winced at the sharp prick of the hickey and grimaced at the feel of his slimy tongue and forceful kiss, leaving her annoyed that it had brought a pleasurable feeling out of her. However, she didn't have time to waste by focusing on how these actions both twistedly repulsed and pleased her; she had to act if she wanted to succeed.
The black-eyed Id would be in for a shock as he'd suddenly be lifted and flipped onto his back on the bed, feeling as though he had a great deal of weight keeping him from moving. During the whole process, his perceived meal and him had stayed connected. He would then find a pair of pale, webbed hands keeping his arms pinned and strong legs wrapped around his like a vice.
"Sorry, asshole, you're not fucking me to death, and you're definitely not getting anywhere near my friends or family. You also talk too much, and if you think Amaxi can be brought down by your lust that easily, you're living a delusional fantasy," Aislinn seethed, giving him a heated glare that wasn't comparable to anything he would've seen in his millennia of existing. It was pissed and challenging, far from the submissiveness he would have expected from the petite woman. She sealed her promise to protect those she loved and cared for with a forceful kiss of her own, dragging her fangs over his bottom lip to mimic the one he had given her.
The mage was thankful for the prepwork Tom had done in order of her to take the reins, to keep her limbs from cramping or otherwise hindering her. She understood that tender, loving ministrations wouldn't really be in the root's vernacular, so she had to match what she thought he would probably do to her, had she not turned the tables on him. While the dominant consciousness might have been surprised at the pace and torque she was currently putting into her movements, she was driven to not fail.
"Oh, yeah, before I forget... Hey, jerkass, I have a name, thank you very much. It's not throne or morsel or offering or my sweet; it's Aislinn McConmara. I also think it's time for you to learn something besides Fuck and Kill. Daddy Asmo's instruction manual is outdated and completely wrong, and it needs to be put through the shredder and then burnt until it's ash," she hissed with bared teeth, leaning in close to his face while placing him in another passionate, yet powerful kiss. This liplock had finesse and power, something that might've seemed like an odd combination to the coarse spirit.
***
"The more cooperation between parties, the better. Protecting as many people as possible is what we're after," Meris agreed, then looking over at the Lord and Lady.
"Any advice for appearing before Their Majesties? Even with the Archduke's request, I'd like to know what I'm getting into," she asked earnestly.
The black-eyed Id would be in for a shock as he'd suddenly be lifted and flipped onto his back on the bed, feeling as though he had a great deal of weight keeping him from moving. During the whole process, his perceived meal and him had stayed connected. He would then find a pair of pale, webbed hands keeping his arms pinned and strong legs wrapped around his like a vice.
"Sorry, asshole, you're not fucking me to death, and you're definitely not getting anywhere near my friends or family. You also talk too much, and if you think Amaxi can be brought down by your lust that easily, you're living a delusional fantasy," Aislinn seethed, giving him a heated glare that wasn't comparable to anything he would've seen in his millennia of existing. It was pissed and challenging, far from the submissiveness he would have expected from the petite woman. She sealed her promise to protect those she loved and cared for with a forceful kiss of her own, dragging her fangs over his bottom lip to mimic the one he had given her.
The mage was thankful for the prepwork Tom had done in order of her to take the reins, to keep her limbs from cramping or otherwise hindering her. She understood that tender, loving ministrations wouldn't really be in the root's vernacular, so she had to match what she thought he would probably do to her, had she not turned the tables on him. While the dominant consciousness might have been surprised at the pace and torque she was currently putting into her movements, she was driven to not fail.
"Oh, yeah, before I forget... Hey, jerkass, I have a name, thank you very much. It's not throne or morsel or offering or my sweet; it's Aislinn McConmara. I also think it's time for you to learn something besides Fuck and Kill. Daddy Asmo's instruction manual is outdated and completely wrong, and it needs to be put through the shredder and then burnt until it's ash," she hissed with bared teeth, leaning in close to his face while placing him in another passionate, yet powerful kiss. This liplock had finesse and power, something that might've seemed like an odd combination to the coarse spirit.
***
"The more cooperation between parties, the better. Protecting as many people as possible is what we're after," Meris agreed, then looking over at the Lord and Lady.
"Any advice for appearing before Their Majesties? Even with the Archduke's request, I'd like to know what I'm getting into," she asked earnestly.
-
IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
The first aggressive liplock had the incubus part with a snorting laugh. "This one has spunk!" he'd chortled. "I might keep you for the nonce, then - teach you in the ways of those people you are to join-"
He couldn't finish that Aislinn denied his aspirations, and then kissed him in a way no incubus had ever experienced before. Only then did his shackles seem to bother him, only then did frustration enter the picture.
"What is this?!" he seethed. "What have you done to me?!"
Even as he narrowed his eyes out of anger and fear, a tiny ringlet of crimson reappeared at the periphery of his eyes. As these markers came into view, fear graduated to quiet terror. He locked eyes with a spot somewhere beyond Aislinn's shoulders.
"I locked you away - I bested you! How can you be here?! How?!"
It wasn't hard to understand that Tom's essentially long-denied alter was going through a bout of co-consciousness; the Warlock Aislinn knew emerging out of the very cracks of his supposedly submerged psyche. The demon refocused on Aislinn, the warthog's features distorted in a snarl.
"Let me go, you bitch! Let me go! LET ME GO!"
An odd impression of familiarity would then layer over the alien pleasure, in the recesses of Aislinn's mind. Scents that couldn't realistically be there came to her nostrils, starting with Tom's infrequent Russian cigarettes and his cologne. Then came his voice, like a whisper placed close to the crook of her neck.
"Don't give in. My people fear what they don't understand. I needed centuries to prepare Dancer and Eyes, to have them accept civilization's nobler traits. Your anger is a good opposing force, but love is going to integrate that fearful part of me with what it is of me that already loves you. Understand how it is that this poor wretch fears you - and make him realize there's nothing to fear."
The real Tom's hands seemed to brush against her cheeks and neck, all in ghostlike sensations. Aislinn would feel the warmth of the side of his face against her right cheek, his fine practitioner's fingers racing along her arms to gently close around her wrists. Not to restrain her, but rather in order to add his own strength to her own.
"And I do love you, Aislinn McConmara. Beyond all words. Beyond consciousness. I couldn't be here otherwise. Treat him as if he were me - as he actually is - and he'll crumble."
* * *
Spector nodded. "They're both a bit harrowed at present; our spies are still combing through all of Faerie's holdings in search of other Morgana sympathizers. They're not used to being confronted with guards they can't handwave out the way with a geas or a nod - even if they themselves put these protocols in place. They wouldn't be King and Queen without good game faces, though - especially Oberon.
Titania's always managed the more regal or traditionally aristocratic side of things throughout all her incarnations, but the current one definitely goes for what I'd call Buckingham Lite. There's more of that post-Regency earnestness involved, more youth to her countenance. As for Oberon, well..."
The Wisp scoffed self-deprecatingly. "At the risk of sounding irredeemably American to Lord Haskill's ears, I'd say he's a lovechild of Santa Claus and Xena the Warrior Princess. He has the most spunk of them both - the most moxie. Titania has a calculating side, Oberon jumps into things headfirst; consequences be damned. He's never overwhelming per se, but he still is a sharp contrast to his wife."
Spector then coughed and adjusted his necktie. "Previous Archdukes would've advised visitors to turn a blind eye to the King's womanizing; his black books used to require their own secretaries to make sense of things and keep his timetable free of any dangerous conflicts. The current Oberon swings sharply towards monogamy, but he's still appreciative of the female form. The standard advisory for female dignitaries is to opt for their culture's take on Business Casual - the associated undertones tend to keep unwanted comments at bay."
Naber's eyebrow quirked. "Does the Queen know of her husband's philandering?
- "All the Titanias've had to work with that can of worms," sighed Spector. "Oberon's Mantle comes complete with a kind of overriding passion for things, no matter if you're referring to table arts, politics, court intrigue, fashion, technology - or sex. Oberon is Passion. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure your Magnus friend could've petitioned for a few embers from the Hearth, for effects similar to what his own desired ritual would produce. It wouldn't be a total fix, however - it'd be a patch job, like mine."
The dog seemed a bit confused. "Wait - so Summer's ruler is somewhat aloof, while Winter's is the approachable one? Shouldn't it be the reverse?"
Vernon shrugged at that. "Summer, Winter - tomahto, tomayto... The Fae are ultimately all equally powerful, flighty, inconstant and similarly possessed of the same arcane grace. The King and Queen are where the fulcrum's balance shifts. The point of equilibrium remains the same, but balance is achieved in both clans by having their higher rulers stand for all of what their Commoners tend to disregard. Even then, you've seen me under my own Mantle. You've seen Gawain MacHae. We're all capable of the same passion, but Winter needed a positive exemplar just as Summer needed someone who would counter Morgana's bliss ninnies.
- So who portrays Winter's fierceness? What of Summer's hospitable nature?"
In response, both Eirean and Vernon gave Christopher a level gaze, vague coronas of heat rising off of the Lady's faintly iridescent skin, along with the impossible scent of summer flowers. Vernon's side of the room, however, began to waft of chilly streams and slate-grey days, with frost once again forming on his jacket, cheekbones and eyebrows.
Benson smirked at that. "Strategy 101, Naber. Leave local defense to the locals. The Lords and Ladies are immediate representatives for the Clans and Seasons, and they're all free to modulate things depending on what their region needs. Algeria's Winter honchos won't fixate on biting cold as a means to slow down their enemies, for instance - not without needing to have words with the Elemental Thrones first. Climate change is enough of a problem as it is, nobody needs the Fae to pitch in, as well."
He couldn't finish that Aislinn denied his aspirations, and then kissed him in a way no incubus had ever experienced before. Only then did his shackles seem to bother him, only then did frustration enter the picture.
"What is this?!" he seethed. "What have you done to me?!"
Even as he narrowed his eyes out of anger and fear, a tiny ringlet of crimson reappeared at the periphery of his eyes. As these markers came into view, fear graduated to quiet terror. He locked eyes with a spot somewhere beyond Aislinn's shoulders.
"I locked you away - I bested you! How can you be here?! How?!"
It wasn't hard to understand that Tom's essentially long-denied alter was going through a bout of co-consciousness; the Warlock Aislinn knew emerging out of the very cracks of his supposedly submerged psyche. The demon refocused on Aislinn, the warthog's features distorted in a snarl.
"Let me go, you bitch! Let me go! LET ME GO!"
An odd impression of familiarity would then layer over the alien pleasure, in the recesses of Aislinn's mind. Scents that couldn't realistically be there came to her nostrils, starting with Tom's infrequent Russian cigarettes and his cologne. Then came his voice, like a whisper placed close to the crook of her neck.
"Don't give in. My people fear what they don't understand. I needed centuries to prepare Dancer and Eyes, to have them accept civilization's nobler traits. Your anger is a good opposing force, but love is going to integrate that fearful part of me with what it is of me that already loves you. Understand how it is that this poor wretch fears you - and make him realize there's nothing to fear."
The real Tom's hands seemed to brush against her cheeks and neck, all in ghostlike sensations. Aislinn would feel the warmth of the side of his face against her right cheek, his fine practitioner's fingers racing along her arms to gently close around her wrists. Not to restrain her, but rather in order to add his own strength to her own.
"And I do love you, Aislinn McConmara. Beyond all words. Beyond consciousness. I couldn't be here otherwise. Treat him as if he were me - as he actually is - and he'll crumble."
* * *
Spector nodded. "They're both a bit harrowed at present; our spies are still combing through all of Faerie's holdings in search of other Morgana sympathizers. They're not used to being confronted with guards they can't handwave out the way with a geas or a nod - even if they themselves put these protocols in place. They wouldn't be King and Queen without good game faces, though - especially Oberon.
Titania's always managed the more regal or traditionally aristocratic side of things throughout all her incarnations, but the current one definitely goes for what I'd call Buckingham Lite. There's more of that post-Regency earnestness involved, more youth to her countenance. As for Oberon, well..."
The Wisp scoffed self-deprecatingly. "At the risk of sounding irredeemably American to Lord Haskill's ears, I'd say he's a lovechild of Santa Claus and Xena the Warrior Princess. He has the most spunk of them both - the most moxie. Titania has a calculating side, Oberon jumps into things headfirst; consequences be damned. He's never overwhelming per se, but he still is a sharp contrast to his wife."
Spector then coughed and adjusted his necktie. "Previous Archdukes would've advised visitors to turn a blind eye to the King's womanizing; his black books used to require their own secretaries to make sense of things and keep his timetable free of any dangerous conflicts. The current Oberon swings sharply towards monogamy, but he's still appreciative of the female form. The standard advisory for female dignitaries is to opt for their culture's take on Business Casual - the associated undertones tend to keep unwanted comments at bay."
Naber's eyebrow quirked. "Does the Queen know of her husband's philandering?
- "All the Titanias've had to work with that can of worms," sighed Spector. "Oberon's Mantle comes complete with a kind of overriding passion for things, no matter if you're referring to table arts, politics, court intrigue, fashion, technology - or sex. Oberon is Passion. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure your Magnus friend could've petitioned for a few embers from the Hearth, for effects similar to what his own desired ritual would produce. It wouldn't be a total fix, however - it'd be a patch job, like mine."
The dog seemed a bit confused. "Wait - so Summer's ruler is somewhat aloof, while Winter's is the approachable one? Shouldn't it be the reverse?"
Vernon shrugged at that. "Summer, Winter - tomahto, tomayto... The Fae are ultimately all equally powerful, flighty, inconstant and similarly possessed of the same arcane grace. The King and Queen are where the fulcrum's balance shifts. The point of equilibrium remains the same, but balance is achieved in both clans by having their higher rulers stand for all of what their Commoners tend to disregard. Even then, you've seen me under my own Mantle. You've seen Gawain MacHae. We're all capable of the same passion, but Winter needed a positive exemplar just as Summer needed someone who would counter Morgana's bliss ninnies.
- So who portrays Winter's fierceness? What of Summer's hospitable nature?"
In response, both Eirean and Vernon gave Christopher a level gaze, vague coronas of heat rising off of the Lady's faintly iridescent skin, along with the impossible scent of summer flowers. Vernon's side of the room, however, began to waft of chilly streams and slate-grey days, with frost once again forming on his jacket, cheekbones and eyebrows.
Benson smirked at that. "Strategy 101, Naber. Leave local defense to the locals. The Lords and Ladies are immediate representatives for the Clans and Seasons, and they're all free to modulate things depending on what their region needs. Algeria's Winter honchos won't fixate on biting cold as a means to slow down their enemies, for instance - not without needing to have words with the Elemental Thrones first. Climate change is enough of a problem as it is, nobody needs the Fae to pitch in, as well."
-
TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Meris smiled at the Lord and Lady's examples and looked back at Naber. "I've even noticed this with Hanako-san's kin, from what she's told me. Baron Urakawa and his wife can be typically frosty, as most Malks are, but you'll immediately feel warm and invited once in their palace."
She eyed the dog with a bit of amusement. "It's similar to how you and Paimon are aspects of Pride, but you're the picture of civility and Paimon is at least bearable in his demeanor. The Goat's the most noxious form of it, and he's actually all alone. Nobody can really stand him other than being his yes-men."
***
Hearing Tom's words of encouragement caused the roane's anger to wash away, while she tenderly looked down at the snarling warthog. She leaned in closer and placed several gentle kisses on his face. "No, I'm not going to let you go. You're a part of Tom, and I love all of him, including you," she whispered into his ear with a firm tone. "You're safe. This is just a new experience unfamiliar to you."
While the pace wouldn't have necessarily changed, there was a difference to her movements. The exasperation and anger had vanished, and compassion and genuine love had replaced them. She let go of his arms in order to have her hands roam and add to the intensity of pleasure, with her telekinesis keeping his arms from grasping her.
It was her turn to leave a passionate hickey on the right side of his neck, her mouth and tongue massaging the skin but not viciously so. "Think; is there anything you're feeling to really be afraid of?" she countered softly.
She eyed the dog with a bit of amusement. "It's similar to how you and Paimon are aspects of Pride, but you're the picture of civility and Paimon is at least bearable in his demeanor. The Goat's the most noxious form of it, and he's actually all alone. Nobody can really stand him other than being his yes-men."
***
Hearing Tom's words of encouragement caused the roane's anger to wash away, while she tenderly looked down at the snarling warthog. She leaned in closer and placed several gentle kisses on his face. "No, I'm not going to let you go. You're a part of Tom, and I love all of him, including you," she whispered into his ear with a firm tone. "You're safe. This is just a new experience unfamiliar to you."
While the pace wouldn't have necessarily changed, there was a difference to her movements. The exasperation and anger had vanished, and compassion and genuine love had replaced them. She let go of his arms in order to have her hands roam and add to the intensity of pleasure, with her telekinesis keeping his arms from grasping her.
It was her turn to leave a passionate hickey on the right side of his neck, her mouth and tongue massaging the skin but not viciously so. "Think; is there anything you're feeling to really be afraid of?" she countered softly.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
"Well," argued Naber, "the Vices and Virtues alike can be approached by degrees, you see. What little stability the Pit has depends on others like myself existing across the underworld's spectrum: sedate incarnations of sloth, wrath, gluttony, greed, envy and lust."
Eirean smirked in amusement. "What do you think this makes us, in relation to the King and Queen? I'm Summer, just a specifically attuned version of Summer that's become enmeshed with Hope on the socio-cultural level. Vernon is increasingly suggesting what Winter could be in relation to Hope. Or, well, what Winter's becoming, seeing as there's already been some progress on that front."
The dog saw the Lady's point and smiled, looking a bit flustered. "Oh - of course. My apologies, Milady. I'll confess to not running in the Fair Folk's circles all too often."
Vernon shook his head in polite denial. "Not at all, mister Naber; it is us that have neglected our duties to our harbor town. Once the storm passes, this will have to be remedied. We will need to put on a friendlier face for the mortals who pass through Evergloam."
He then gestured for the fireplace. "Shall we? The lot of us should make for an appropriate delegation."
* * *
Rage dissipated, leaving naked terror behind. With Aislinn over him, the incubus stared at the room's ceiling with a deer-in-the-headlights look. His lips quivered, and he shook as if he'd fallen into shock. He pushed against Aislinn's imposed bonds, but it seemed to come out of some deep-seated desire to maybe dislodge Aislinn and go prone or fetal. Tiny porcine squeals escaped him, his crimson ringlets wavering. A full set of red irises sometimes came into focus, only for the pupils to monstrously dilate as the demon's more bestial urges fought to maintain prominence.
"Can't listen," he whispered. "All lies. Must be lies. Anything this... this... What is this? W-What am I feeling? It has to be a lie. Is a lie. Lies. All lies..."
The goal was in sight, quite obviously.
Eirean smirked in amusement. "What do you think this makes us, in relation to the King and Queen? I'm Summer, just a specifically attuned version of Summer that's become enmeshed with Hope on the socio-cultural level. Vernon is increasingly suggesting what Winter could be in relation to Hope. Or, well, what Winter's becoming, seeing as there's already been some progress on that front."
The dog saw the Lady's point and smiled, looking a bit flustered. "Oh - of course. My apologies, Milady. I'll confess to not running in the Fair Folk's circles all too often."
Vernon shook his head in polite denial. "Not at all, mister Naber; it is us that have neglected our duties to our harbor town. Once the storm passes, this will have to be remedied. We will need to put on a friendlier face for the mortals who pass through Evergloam."
He then gestured for the fireplace. "Shall we? The lot of us should make for an appropriate delegation."
* * *
Rage dissipated, leaving naked terror behind. With Aislinn over him, the incubus stared at the room's ceiling with a deer-in-the-headlights look. His lips quivered, and he shook as if he'd fallen into shock. He pushed against Aislinn's imposed bonds, but it seemed to come out of some deep-seated desire to maybe dislodge Aislinn and go prone or fetal. Tiny porcine squeals escaped him, his crimson ringlets wavering. A full set of red irises sometimes came into focus, only for the pupils to monstrously dilate as the demon's more bestial urges fought to maintain prominence.
"Can't listen," he whispered. "All lies. Must be lies. Anything this... this... What is this? W-What am I feeling? It has to be a lie. Is a lie. Lies. All lies..."
The goal was in sight, quite obviously.
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Meris nodded. "Let's go," she said, venturing toward the fireplace turned portal.
***
"What you're feeling is love. Love for me, your girlfriend. It's not a lie, I promise," Aislinn whispered again in his ear, nuzzling it despite his protesting nature. "Love isn't a trap; it's a strength. I get that it can be scary at first, that's normal. Being vulnerable is scary, but it leaves you open to wonderful things."
She pressed a reassuring kiss to his forehead. "I was vulnerable when I rescued you from your siblings. I risked my life for yours because I care."
The selkie cupped his face and looked directly into his eyes, resting her forehead against his. "You don't have to be cursed any longer. With love, you'll be free. After all, I love you dearly, Tom."
***
"What you're feeling is love. Love for me, your girlfriend. It's not a lie, I promise," Aislinn whispered again in his ear, nuzzling it despite his protesting nature. "Love isn't a trap; it's a strength. I get that it can be scary at first, that's normal. Being vulnerable is scary, but it leaves you open to wonderful things."
She pressed a reassuring kiss to his forehead. "I was vulnerable when I rescued you from your siblings. I risked my life for yours because I care."
The selkie cupped his face and looked directly into his eyes, resting her forehead against his. "You don't have to be cursed any longer. With love, you'll be free. After all, I love you dearly, Tom."
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Spector needed a little while to find a way to fit his gangly self in the hearth without making the others feel cramped, but his rather loose nature allowed him to find a compromise that left Benson and Chris looking more than a little impressed. Crouched down and with his hands and arms almost looped around his knees and torso twice, the former White King looked, at best, mildly uncomfortable.
"What?" he asked. "It's not my fault one of my parents is an Eldritch horror who had the idea of gifting me with bisected bones! I'm as impressed as you are; Amaxi can actually have a good idea, once in a blue moon! All I want is to eventually find a chair I can sit in all nice and proper, but the entire world's Swedish designers are conspiring to force me to slump into overdesigned plastic shells!"
George did his best to appear phlegmatic, but his newfound colleagues' shock was more than a little amusing. The corners of his lips quivered, and it was all he had to keep himself from bursting out with a good peal of laughter. "Let's just leave," he said, mocking aggravation, "I can only stand so much relatable suffering."
The Spaniel flashed an amused grin, but seemed to have more self-control. "Come now, gentlemen; it wouldn't do us good to appear before the King and Queen in stitches. Stiff upper lip, alright?
- Well and truly starched," agreed Vernon, who looked the very picture of frosty countenance - if not for the way his eyes twinkled.
Eirean did her best to arrange her hair and reset her own power suit in the cramped space. "I'm still waiting for the nanomesh-paracord scrunchies I ordered off of Amazon's Paradise production site. Karma handed me too much mojo, I can't do anything with this hair..."
As per usual, Hope's Summer Lady had the kind of head of hair that would've maybe been more fitting of a Pixar movie heroine: obscenely strong, nearly impossible to stylize, and very likely to be impossible to cut without some made-for-purpose arcane ordnance. Grimacing, she worked a pin through the thick and curly mass - not so much out of pain as out of difficulty in clasping the pin shut. Vernon flashed her a look, the cramped space keeping him from helping.
"You should've left me help you back there. I could've perhaps-
- I know, I know. I was in post-wound-tending and post-makeout mode; I didn't exactly think about my appearance-"
She didn't have time to finish that flames erupted into being in front of the group, causing the Lady to yelp. They receded just as quickly, the space beyond the hearth now looking fairly different. Benson frowned as he looked across the sandstone-colored room.
"This isn't the palace...
- No, it isn't," agreed Naberius. "This is the Heiress' demesne; the last true seat of power for Solomon's dominion. Or, well, to be more precise, this is one of the unused handmaidens' quarters. The fortress is built into and atop a mesa in Israel's desert, close to the Palestinian border, and absolutely awash in concealment and deterrence wards. Nobody has ever been able to bring themselves to shell or bomb our little home, it comes across as of being of little consequence to both sides. We're also fairly isolated in the desert, which further makes this fortress of low significance."
Vernon was surprised. "So this is Meggido?
- Not quite," corrected Naberius. "The historical and Biblical fort is several kilometers northeast of here, rather safely in Israelian territory. This is a glorified bunker of sorts; a bunker, panic room and vault fit for a queen. Miles of hard stone, geothermals for heat and portal rooms that both line our larders and supply our pipes with clean water from the Egyptian delta's open borders. We've taken to expanding our holdings to a pied-à-terre in the Orkneys, in order to further accommodate our most gracious ruler," he said, nodding to Meris, and we've recovered what we could from the short-lived sanitization attempts in Dalarath. Everything in order to assist Meris and her descendants and friends with their shared plights and causes."
Benson opened the room's door, exposing a wide corridor carved in the same sandstone-colored rock. Narrow windows pierced the wall irregularly, with side corridors shooting off from the main one every thirty feet or so. Each of them was capped by an arch, the keystone of which showed glowing Hebrew letters. On top of them hovered a kind of arcane hologram of corresponding words in other languages. They suggested the keep housed an arboretum, a pond, a library, a laboratory and a few other facilities beyond the obvious bare necessities. Meris might recognize the double doors leading to Vassago's time-bending archives, while the frosted-glass doors and panels to her chief propagandist's office, Agares, still remained unexplored. Samigina's looked like an aged iron-fitted wooden door leading to the Flying Dutchman's captain's quarters, while those belonging to Nybbas - her lead courtier - looked like a modern elevator's double doors.
Haskill looked a bit puzzled by all this, but it was Benson who eventually caught on. "You're preparing a kind of prelim audience, right?" he asked.
Naberius looked pleased as punch. "However did you guess, good sir?"
The Bugbear sniffed. "Easy. We're looking to mess with Hope's Fae politics in preparation for a bigger threat. That kind of request comes with research panels and courtly nonsense back in London. You don't have time to waste on that, so you're looking to cut the grass from under the court naysayers' feet - provide Meris here with all the arguments and support she'll need to make an impression on the royal couple; maybe even to the point where the changes'll be immediate."
The dog grinned. "Well, that, and a fair few of my brethren haven't had the chance to meet our ruler yet and have been haranguing me for close to the last six months, now. The Meris fan club is about to get a smidge bigger..."
Eirean leaned closer to one of the main corridor's windows. "You can see the colonies from here!
- Yes, we've tried to extend a kind of arcane suggestion of the Elder Statesman's principles to both borders, from here. Where Warlocks might work to broadcast a curse, we've tried to broadcast equanimity and progress. We're within spyglass distance of the most peaceful stretches of the Israel-Palestine border. On good days, the wind carries the sound of Jewish and Muslim children playing football in the olive fields.
- You mean soccer," supplied Benson.
Naberius feigned a look of offense. "Exactly, sir - football. A true gentleman's sport!"
* * *
The demon looked past Aislinn, still seeming shocked. "But you can't hope to - you can't change me, I never could change me! Thousands of years of lies and hope and fear, running and running and running away - but Asmodeus always finds us. He knows; he's just waiting for the slap to hurt - for the punishment to fit the crime. Nothing can be done, nothing could ever be done, and all I've tried, it just-"
He stopped. It wouldn't be hard to imagine the alter's rebellious and loving half whispering to him, reminding him of their past successes. His irises wavered and then settled - a thin crimson circle surrounding too-wide pupils.
"But what if he hurts us?" he asked, seemingly to nobody in particular. "What if he hurts her? We couldn't survive this, and you know it!"
More silence, more unheard conference. The Id then refocused on Aislinn.
"Could I push on - survive - to honor you? Could I bring your plans to fruition?"
Something made the incubus grow tense, even as stored arcane power hummed in the room. As he opened his eyes, they shifted in ways that were unlike both the Id's and Tom's. The pupils contracted down to a normal size, the blood-red irises turned to somewhere between burgundy and purple, and the warthog anthro's natural white sclera became visible for the first time.
"I would," both voices whispered at once. "I would, for you. I would carry your name, honor your siblings and tend to your parents. I would stitch ink and magic to flesh. I would speak your people's tongue, work their arcane arts. If I failed you in life, I would do all in my power to honor you in death."
Tom's voice then settled into a new registry; a slightly coarser one than what he'd previously shown. A tiny bit of a demonic burr, smoothed over by his kindness, care and nascent love.
"But I won't let that happen, Aislinn. I won't need for it to happen, because I'll be by your side, always."
Immense strength seemed to invade his limbs. Slowly, tenderly, he pushed against her telekinetic shackles and managed to bring her close, his eyes brimming with fear and exultation.
"I love you, Aislinn McConmara," he whispered. "Do you hear me? I love you."
For the first time, he kissed her in a way that unexplainably, yet completely matched the depths of his desired commitment. It wasn't just a lover's kiss or an incubus' one - but that of a loving incubus', one whose sustenance and dedication would both stretch out in an unending stream. Tom's burden of lust could now be removed - only to be willingly assumed during moments of intimacy.
Tom made them both tip to the side, where his thighs and tongue worked more slowly, more languidly than before. He again made noise as he kissed her, a light moan that betrayed how love was giving new texture to previously known experiences. Without thinking about it, he resumed his sharing of his sensory input, a new, wild joy rooted at the heart of his sensory cascade. As he did, the green sparks matured into autonomous tongues of heatless werefire, the room turning into a raging arcane bonfire, via seeping into every inch of the bed and furnishings - as well as the lovers. A strand of equal parts via and Hellfire rooted itself in Aislinn's heart and soul, surging through her limbs. She'd feel as though her arms were both capable of loving tenderness as much as steely resolve. She'd feel as though her thighs could've snapped Tom's spine as much as brought other men down to their knees. She was Power, she was Grace - and to Tom, she was Love.
She was no tattooist. She was no dabbler. She was no Infernalist or Warlock - not as Eternity surged through her, Hope's Nexus reacting like a Jacob's Ladder's tines. Power jumped straight from the bowels of the Centennial Tree and surged through street, copper, steel and electrical wire alike, and found her. Just as power had once found Meris and had lifted her from the brink of death, power rode in on the couple's bliss and erupted from the roane's mouth and eyes.
Blue-white fire consumed her - and didn't consume her. Pain never materialized, vigor instead pouring inside Aislinn's form. Blue-white fire dribbled from her mouth and onto Tom; but he seemed unharmed.
This time, he didn't push their respective climaxes away. He didn't rush things, but allowed them both to crest the proverbial hill. A wordless shout followed, a snarl and a snorted spasm, eyes squinted shut, fingers dug into the roane's hair - followed by a sudden release of tension and a low moan. Tom looked utterly enraptured by the experience. His love was burning, and in a sense, he burned along with her. Outside, the neighborhood outside of Magnus Tower was swallowed in a blackout.
"Every cell in this body loves you," he slurred, managing something that was equal parts a dumbfounded chuckle and a sob of release. "I never thought in all my years that I'd feel so much release, I was... starting to doubt an incubus could take it and stay alive..."
He'd obviously never experienced anything like the refractory period's bonding urges, and his demonic nature expressed them as best it could - intensely and earnestly.
"I could lie here with you on top of me forever," he grunted, eyes closed. "Oh, Lucifer, words fail me...
"What?" he asked. "It's not my fault one of my parents is an Eldritch horror who had the idea of gifting me with bisected bones! I'm as impressed as you are; Amaxi can actually have a good idea, once in a blue moon! All I want is to eventually find a chair I can sit in all nice and proper, but the entire world's Swedish designers are conspiring to force me to slump into overdesigned plastic shells!"
George did his best to appear phlegmatic, but his newfound colleagues' shock was more than a little amusing. The corners of his lips quivered, and it was all he had to keep himself from bursting out with a good peal of laughter. "Let's just leave," he said, mocking aggravation, "I can only stand so much relatable suffering."
The Spaniel flashed an amused grin, but seemed to have more self-control. "Come now, gentlemen; it wouldn't do us good to appear before the King and Queen in stitches. Stiff upper lip, alright?
- Well and truly starched," agreed Vernon, who looked the very picture of frosty countenance - if not for the way his eyes twinkled.
Eirean did her best to arrange her hair and reset her own power suit in the cramped space. "I'm still waiting for the nanomesh-paracord scrunchies I ordered off of Amazon's Paradise production site. Karma handed me too much mojo, I can't do anything with this hair..."
As per usual, Hope's Summer Lady had the kind of head of hair that would've maybe been more fitting of a Pixar movie heroine: obscenely strong, nearly impossible to stylize, and very likely to be impossible to cut without some made-for-purpose arcane ordnance. Grimacing, she worked a pin through the thick and curly mass - not so much out of pain as out of difficulty in clasping the pin shut. Vernon flashed her a look, the cramped space keeping him from helping.
"You should've left me help you back there. I could've perhaps-
- I know, I know. I was in post-wound-tending and post-makeout mode; I didn't exactly think about my appearance-"
She didn't have time to finish that flames erupted into being in front of the group, causing the Lady to yelp. They receded just as quickly, the space beyond the hearth now looking fairly different. Benson frowned as he looked across the sandstone-colored room.
"This isn't the palace...
- No, it isn't," agreed Naberius. "This is the Heiress' demesne; the last true seat of power for Solomon's dominion. Or, well, to be more precise, this is one of the unused handmaidens' quarters. The fortress is built into and atop a mesa in Israel's desert, close to the Palestinian border, and absolutely awash in concealment and deterrence wards. Nobody has ever been able to bring themselves to shell or bomb our little home, it comes across as of being of little consequence to both sides. We're also fairly isolated in the desert, which further makes this fortress of low significance."
Vernon was surprised. "So this is Meggido?
- Not quite," corrected Naberius. "The historical and Biblical fort is several kilometers northeast of here, rather safely in Israelian territory. This is a glorified bunker of sorts; a bunker, panic room and vault fit for a queen. Miles of hard stone, geothermals for heat and portal rooms that both line our larders and supply our pipes with clean water from the Egyptian delta's open borders. We've taken to expanding our holdings to a pied-à-terre in the Orkneys, in order to further accommodate our most gracious ruler," he said, nodding to Meris, and we've recovered what we could from the short-lived sanitization attempts in Dalarath. Everything in order to assist Meris and her descendants and friends with their shared plights and causes."
Benson opened the room's door, exposing a wide corridor carved in the same sandstone-colored rock. Narrow windows pierced the wall irregularly, with side corridors shooting off from the main one every thirty feet or so. Each of them was capped by an arch, the keystone of which showed glowing Hebrew letters. On top of them hovered a kind of arcane hologram of corresponding words in other languages. They suggested the keep housed an arboretum, a pond, a library, a laboratory and a few other facilities beyond the obvious bare necessities. Meris might recognize the double doors leading to Vassago's time-bending archives, while the frosted-glass doors and panels to her chief propagandist's office, Agares, still remained unexplored. Samigina's looked like an aged iron-fitted wooden door leading to the Flying Dutchman's captain's quarters, while those belonging to Nybbas - her lead courtier - looked like a modern elevator's double doors.
Haskill looked a bit puzzled by all this, but it was Benson who eventually caught on. "You're preparing a kind of prelim audience, right?" he asked.
Naberius looked pleased as punch. "However did you guess, good sir?"
The Bugbear sniffed. "Easy. We're looking to mess with Hope's Fae politics in preparation for a bigger threat. That kind of request comes with research panels and courtly nonsense back in London. You don't have time to waste on that, so you're looking to cut the grass from under the court naysayers' feet - provide Meris here with all the arguments and support she'll need to make an impression on the royal couple; maybe even to the point where the changes'll be immediate."
The dog grinned. "Well, that, and a fair few of my brethren haven't had the chance to meet our ruler yet and have been haranguing me for close to the last six months, now. The Meris fan club is about to get a smidge bigger..."
Eirean leaned closer to one of the main corridor's windows. "You can see the colonies from here!
- Yes, we've tried to extend a kind of arcane suggestion of the Elder Statesman's principles to both borders, from here. Where Warlocks might work to broadcast a curse, we've tried to broadcast equanimity and progress. We're within spyglass distance of the most peaceful stretches of the Israel-Palestine border. On good days, the wind carries the sound of Jewish and Muslim children playing football in the olive fields.
- You mean soccer," supplied Benson.
Naberius feigned a look of offense. "Exactly, sir - football. A true gentleman's sport!"
* * *
The demon looked past Aislinn, still seeming shocked. "But you can't hope to - you can't change me, I never could change me! Thousands of years of lies and hope and fear, running and running and running away - but Asmodeus always finds us. He knows; he's just waiting for the slap to hurt - for the punishment to fit the crime. Nothing can be done, nothing could ever be done, and all I've tried, it just-"
He stopped. It wouldn't be hard to imagine the alter's rebellious and loving half whispering to him, reminding him of their past successes. His irises wavered and then settled - a thin crimson circle surrounding too-wide pupils.
"But what if he hurts us?" he asked, seemingly to nobody in particular. "What if he hurts her? We couldn't survive this, and you know it!"
More silence, more unheard conference. The Id then refocused on Aislinn.
"Could I push on - survive - to honor you? Could I bring your plans to fruition?"
Something made the incubus grow tense, even as stored arcane power hummed in the room. As he opened his eyes, they shifted in ways that were unlike both the Id's and Tom's. The pupils contracted down to a normal size, the blood-red irises turned to somewhere between burgundy and purple, and the warthog anthro's natural white sclera became visible for the first time.
"I would," both voices whispered at once. "I would, for you. I would carry your name, honor your siblings and tend to your parents. I would stitch ink and magic to flesh. I would speak your people's tongue, work their arcane arts. If I failed you in life, I would do all in my power to honor you in death."
Tom's voice then settled into a new registry; a slightly coarser one than what he'd previously shown. A tiny bit of a demonic burr, smoothed over by his kindness, care and nascent love.
"But I won't let that happen, Aislinn. I won't need for it to happen, because I'll be by your side, always."
Immense strength seemed to invade his limbs. Slowly, tenderly, he pushed against her telekinetic shackles and managed to bring her close, his eyes brimming with fear and exultation.
"I love you, Aislinn McConmara," he whispered. "Do you hear me? I love you."
For the first time, he kissed her in a way that unexplainably, yet completely matched the depths of his desired commitment. It wasn't just a lover's kiss or an incubus' one - but that of a loving incubus', one whose sustenance and dedication would both stretch out in an unending stream. Tom's burden of lust could now be removed - only to be willingly assumed during moments of intimacy.
Tom made them both tip to the side, where his thighs and tongue worked more slowly, more languidly than before. He again made noise as he kissed her, a light moan that betrayed how love was giving new texture to previously known experiences. Without thinking about it, he resumed his sharing of his sensory input, a new, wild joy rooted at the heart of his sensory cascade. As he did, the green sparks matured into autonomous tongues of heatless werefire, the room turning into a raging arcane bonfire, via seeping into every inch of the bed and furnishings - as well as the lovers. A strand of equal parts via and Hellfire rooted itself in Aislinn's heart and soul, surging through her limbs. She'd feel as though her arms were both capable of loving tenderness as much as steely resolve. She'd feel as though her thighs could've snapped Tom's spine as much as brought other men down to their knees. She was Power, she was Grace - and to Tom, she was Love.
She was no tattooist. She was no dabbler. She was no Infernalist or Warlock - not as Eternity surged through her, Hope's Nexus reacting like a Jacob's Ladder's tines. Power jumped straight from the bowels of the Centennial Tree and surged through street, copper, steel and electrical wire alike, and found her. Just as power had once found Meris and had lifted her from the brink of death, power rode in on the couple's bliss and erupted from the roane's mouth and eyes.
Blue-white fire consumed her - and didn't consume her. Pain never materialized, vigor instead pouring inside Aislinn's form. Blue-white fire dribbled from her mouth and onto Tom; but he seemed unharmed.
This time, he didn't push their respective climaxes away. He didn't rush things, but allowed them both to crest the proverbial hill. A wordless shout followed, a snarl and a snorted spasm, eyes squinted shut, fingers dug into the roane's hair - followed by a sudden release of tension and a low moan. Tom looked utterly enraptured by the experience. His love was burning, and in a sense, he burned along with her. Outside, the neighborhood outside of Magnus Tower was swallowed in a blackout.
"Every cell in this body loves you," he slurred, managing something that was equal parts a dumbfounded chuckle and a sob of release. "I never thought in all my years that I'd feel so much release, I was... starting to doubt an incubus could take it and stay alive..."
He'd obviously never experienced anything like the refractory period's bonding urges, and his demonic nature expressed them as best it could - intensely and earnestly.
"I could lie here with you on top of me forever," he grunted, eyes closed. "Oh, Lucifer, words fail me...