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 Shakespeare in the Park, complete

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Lanthe K. Deòir

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PostSubject: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   January 29th 2013, 1:27 am


Dong…dong…dong…dong…dong…dong…dong…dong…dong…dong…dong…dong…

Hanging in the sky like the milky white eye of Poseidon’s titan son, the full moon enshrined the park in an ephemeral glow. It caught in the low fog rising off the dew-glittered ground, winding through the trees and billowing over the concrete walking path in silver waves. Hand-painted clouds winked the silver dollar moon out of sight as they rolled casually across the night sky, heavy and dark with a burden of rain. The sapphire green grass shivered as the wind which bent the sails of the clouds dipped low to rake its fingers through their dampened blades. Along its way, passing a lone figure sitting atop a park bench, the zephyr paused to read the words in the book the woman held. Hungry for more, it flipped the page and received in turn a nod of thanks.

“Th’iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve,” she murmured at the last ringing of the bell, then, lifting her head, cried: “Lovers, to bed~! ‘Tis faerie time.”

Hair the color of a black opal, shifting with the moonlit shade, the woman could not have been older than her early to mid twenties. She moved with the very grace of the wind as she stood to her feet and balanced along the back of the wooden bench, pacing to its end and dropping down into the grass. Dressed in a pair of soft, grey tweed slacks, she was barefoot, but did not seem to mind the wintry mud squishing up between her toes, nor the vapors of mist that swirled between her knees. Her eyes, bright turquoise green, were trained upon the book she held, though she would know every word by heart and oft closed her eyes in thought as she meandered about with a hum or a murmured line. Thin, gossamer satin embraced her slender torso for a chemise, long sleeved and low necked, and though she shivered every so often, she seemed to pay little mind to the chill, sashaying her way back to the bench where she reclined once more.

“Mm, I just love Shakespeare in the park!” rang a clear, crystal laugh.

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Saintilus M. Prometheae

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   January 29th 2013, 9:47 pm

Santi sat upon a bench in the park with his notepad and quill-pen being his only exterior adornments save his clothing. The brunette man that usually stood at about six foot tall struck a much shorter figure as he sat with one leg balanced easily on the other, revealing his shoes that fit the form of his foot perfectly, including his toes as they seemed to split at the end for that purpose. His pants were of a soft jean material that matched the evening shade of dark blue with brown threading, and his shirt was a loose, short-sleeved, button-up that was made of a thin poly-blend that was light blue in shade.

The quill-pen's feathers rested on the tip of his lips for the moment as he was having a very difficult time coming up with his next line. Writing a book was simply just not as simple as people made it out to be. Suppose a memoir in first-person would've been a bit easier than this story from the outside point-of-view. he mused, tilting his head to his left side to stretch his neck.

Most people were asleep at this hour, and Santi genuinely preferred writing in this way. People were a bother, and often attempted to distract him from his peaceful solitude by offering him unwanted company or invitations to go places. Sometimes these offers were well-received, but it depended purely on the presentation. This was a night where his standards were considerably lower as his writing dwindled after the two chapters he had written thus far.

A laugh in the distance caused his golden brown eyes to draw immediately in its direction. A light frown now appeared on his slightly tanned visage. Someone's enjoying the night. he thought idly, wondering if this person was a student enjoying their break from schoolwork. He didn't suppose he could blame them, as he was itching for a break from his writing just at this moment anyway. He did wonder what a feminine-sounding laugh was doing outside at this time. Hopefully she wasn't alone. His nature wouldn't wish for anything to happen to her, regardless of how safe a location she thought this was. Anything could go wrong.

His thoughts only served to cause his frown to deepen as he attempted to write. The surge in emotion, however slight, caused him to have a brief flash of inspiration that fueled the next four lines on his page as the dark green feather attached to his pen moved furiously with his quickened writing. No matter his newly found temporary muse, his ear stayed perked up for any signs of trouble. That was the last thing he needed tonight after arriving just a short time ago.
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Lanthe K. Deòir

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   January 29th 2013, 10:15 pm


It wasn’t for a few minutes after the young woman had stretched herself out across the bench that she found cause to rise again, and when she did, it was with the sudden gusto of a dog that had scented its quarry. She had felt a little dribble of glamour trickle out of her like sand from an hourglass just then, some human’s unintentional siphoning of her energies. Leaks were not uncommon when she was in an extraordinarily good mood, but it drew her attention nevertheless; creative mortals were just to die for!

Craning her head backwards, she saw the delicate thread of gold, shimmering like sunlight before the ascetic glare of the moon banished it like a will-o’the-wisp. Breath held in anticipation, she deftly unwound herself from the wooden bench where before she had perched and, careful not to leave behind her cherished volume of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, began to make her way towards the source of her disturbance. She must have looked like a ghost, hardly seeming to touch the ground as the diaphanous fog blurred her figure below the flowing hem of her gauzy shirt. Her determination did not waver as she sailed through the sea of sliver, turquoise eyes held in fixed fascination on her destination.

The closer she came to the anointed locale, the stronger the creative energies became, warm and tasting of sweet fruits and ambrosia on her tongue. He was handsome, the man to whom they belonged, with chocolate brown hair she envisioned slipping through her fingers like silk. She could see in the lines on his forehead the way that his energies struggled, caught up and tangled like knots in the strings of a marionette—and she, the puppet master, her fingers itching to untangle them as she approached in silence and sidled up behind him.

“Having trouble?” she murmured, her voice the softest, sweetest honey tone she reserved for her mortals.

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Saintilus M. Prometheae

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   January 29th 2013, 10:38 pm

Santi's eyebrow raised, as he nearly felt the gust of wind that blew past when his newly discovered visitor approached. Her sweet tone, though possibly mistaken, gave him little response other than the feeling that she was flirting with him upon his appearance alone. Not that he minded most of the time. His looks tended to draw that attention in the broad daylight. In the middle of the night though? He only had to hope she wasn't drunk.

And me without my spray bottle he thought to himself, turning his head to the stranger.

Her appearance almost caused a slackened jaw, though it betrayed nothing physically visible in the hardened over guardian of the peace as he took in her eyes. They were like pools of beauty that he had to assume was inhuman. The dark hair and pale skin that accompanied them simply expounded on the glorious shade of perfect color in those eyes that had him nearly captivated before a single flashing reminder crossed his mind. Inhuman. It's supposed to look that way.

His attention immediately turned back to his page so that he could finish his sentence before setting down his quill, turning his body in his seated position, and placing his honey-colored eyes to hers, steeling his emotion. "How precisely do you mean? Having trouble with enjoying a quiet night? Or having trouble with sitting here peacefully? Perhaps having trouble with stargazing, nevermind the notebook on my lap?" he asked plainly, albeit a bit cynically.

His questions came from the hardened mind, though his heart was nearly stolen away at first glance. These things happened when he was out late and sleep-deprived, he resolved. Besides, who in their right mind would fall for someone based purely on their eyes when they approached like that? Her appearance was truly magical, but she'd never know he felt that way. That would be too easy, and far too forward for his liking.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific, dear." he added, throwing his deceptively charming smile her way, as he mimicked the honey-coated tone she had used on him.
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Lanthe K. Deòir

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   January 29th 2013, 11:09 pm


This one has his wits about him, she observed.

A flicker of a pout crossed her visage as he seemed to reprimand her for her interruption of his night. It wasn’t her fault that he had borrowed some of her energy and happened to be out during her favorite time of the night in her favorite part of the city—though perhaps she might have been a bit less obtuse about it. That aside, she was helpless but to pursue the essence that kept her alive, so he really shouldn’t blame her for being where she was at this moment.

“I meant,” she said, still in that lyrical tone and choosing to ignore his rudeness, “if you were having trouble with that, darling.”

In speaking, she raised one delicate hand and pointed at his notebook with deliberation, her other hand seeking to cup her cheek. The former action drew her own attention to his manuscript as she intended to draw his, her gaze landing on the quill, which lay like a splash of ink across the page. Arching one eyebrow, she let her hand fall and swept around to the front of the bench where she dropped into a crouch. Not since William and Thomas had she seen such a beautiful quill, its plume an emerald hue that complimented the turquoise of her eyes just so.

“May I?” she asked suddenly, holding her out expectantly for the object.

His honeyed tone drew her gaze, and she stifled the intake of oxygen forced by his charismatic smile. It was a nice smile, she decided, and she returned it with one of her own. This smile was a hundred years on three hundred more old, the very first smile she had smiled: sweet, beguiling, and full of whatever Thomas had seen fit to write about, filled with the tincture of mortal man’s weaknesses when it came to the fairer sex.

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Saintilus M. Prometheae

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   January 30th 2013, 4:13 pm

Darling, eh? he thought with a short, deep chuckle, keeping his eyes on her as she swept around the bench to face him so that he could take in her entire appearance. The woman was otherworldly beautiful, truly she was. Having enough experience in the pleasurable charms of the inhuman females as they typically attracted to mortal males in their youth, Santi chose not to become all too interested just yet.

"I'm doing alright. This is hardly an overnight project, and I've made a fair bit of progress tonight. So no trouble, I suppose. he said in a thoughtful manner, his lips pursed slightly and his tone still dripping with the charm he'd turned on.

The compliment of her eyes gazing upon his quill did not get fall on his usually deaf ears, and it drew another smile. This quill was among his favorites, and he wrote only with them. Although he had the pens attached to the quills to bring when he was not at his desk and near an inkwell, all of Santi's writing utensils were quills of some sort or another.

"This? he asked, his charming smile still adorning his usually passive visage. Only if you give it back. I'd hate to have to hunt you down for it." the avid hunter added, mostly in jest, but very honestly.

There was little he could do without his trusted blade to harm her, but he had no qualms about chasing the beautiful woman down to have it returned if necessary. Though, with the interest she seemed to be taking in his writing, he wondered whether she would truly take off with the only utensil he had on him anyway.

Her outstretched hand was of interest to him suddenly. There was a lot one could tell about the touch of an individual, be they mortal or otherwise, and instead of the normal gesture he would make with his eyes to let a person pick up an object themselves, Santi lifted his quill and laid it in her hand so that his fingertips brushed her skin.

A sudden rush filled the man, of both creative and emotional energy that would've made a less cynical and hardened male quiver and shake with anticipation. His eyes betrayed little but a glow that came from his eyes in response to the creative energy, and he found himself now much more allured by the strange woman in front of him, drawing his curiosity.

"What is your name?" he asked in his charming tone, throwing his caution to the wind in this new rush while keeping his own identity his own for the moment until he acquired hers. His allurement would only go so far to throw all guards off, after all. This man, in particular was good with names and faces. While her face didn't necessarily make him feel any sense of familiarity, he was warned that this place had drawn shape-shifters, and a name may serve to revive a memory of any supernatural being that was wanted for a crime against a mortal so that he may prepare himself.
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Lanthe K. Deòir

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   January 30th 2013, 9:35 pm


A nice smile, and a laugh as warm and golden as those brilliant eyes. If she should find this mortal in her company until he was old, she did not think she would mind at all. Whether or not she would, in fact, acquire or even demand his company was yet to be determined, but as his fingers brushed against hers, she felt again the inexorable pull of creativity, the live wire connection of inspiration from her body to his. The rough, hot touch of his hand wasn’t unpleasant either, and she found herself wishing he’d let it rest a little longer; that was, at least, until the silken feather of the quill landed in her smooth, cool palm.

“Ohh~” she let out a little coo, stroking the feather and holding it up to the light of the moon to watch the mother of pearl shards play on its rich plume. “Ah, and it’s even a real feather! How unusual. I haven’t seen a quill of such excellent style since I worked with William!” His warning on not stealing it brought a mischievous smile to her face, and she held the feathered end out to swish it teasingly against his nose. “And what a shame that would be—I’d have a pretty quill and a handsome man chasing me down.”

As if the fire in his eyes had spread to hers, when her gaze lifted to his it was as if embers burned hot and blue beneath the smoke of her lashes. It was a look that spoke much in the few words she could not say, but she bid her urges be silent a moment more, casting his form to the corner of her gaze. Lifting her hand up so that the pallid light of the moon spilled over her alabaster flesh, she let the loosened sleeve of her shirt pool to the crook of her elbow. The action revealed a mass of nondescript and nonsensical scribbles across her otherwise flawless arms. She searched, it would have seemed, in vain for a clear spot before flexing her palm and putting the tip of the quill to the sensitive flesh inside. With a shiver, she motioned as if she would draw or write something of great importance, careful not to break the quill, but when she pulled the instrument away, all that greeted her eyes was a mass of wasted ink. That done, she curled her fingers over the catastrophe she had managed to suffer into being and held the quill out to its proper owner, making sure that the way in which she held it would force their hands into contact again.

“I suppose you want to write, now,” she spoke in a low, sultry tone of voice that was only half a question, “don’t you?”

Their skin contact like the pleasant feeling of brushing your hand almost too near to a flame, she sat down beside him on the bench. Tempted though she was, she was all the same a practiced predator and she would not force any encounter other than the touch of their hands this once; and so, she left a comfortable gap between their hips on the bench, his legs laid straight before him, and hers folded neatly atop each other. She sat with perfect posture, her head inclined just so and her torso turned politely towards his as she awaited his response. His inquiry of her name brought a slow smile to her face, accompanied by a laugh like the sound of wind through a chime.

“Now that is a dangerous question. You can call me whatever you like, but I go by Lanthe Deòir most days. And your name?”

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Saintilus M. Prometheae

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   February 1st 2013, 8:37 pm

Left wondering just who in the hell this William was, and why he would have a quill, Santi pushed it from his mind, nevertheless satisfied with her spoken compliments of his writing utensil. He took great pride in his quill collection, regardless of how outdated some considered them. Perhaps her William was much the same.

Her swish of the feather against his nose caused him to wrinkle it for what seemed a millisecond before returning to normal as his eyes seemed to flatten in color, obviously not as amused with her statement as she was, but a smile creeping across his face nonetheless. Nonplussed, Santi spoke in the same teasing tone as she in her previous statement.

"If you're a succubus, I'll have to kill you." he replied with a smile on his face as he spoke, letting it linger for a moment before returning to a passive gaze upon her actions, narrowing his eyes curiously and suspiciously at her mess of scribbles and probable inability to actually write.

His eyes did not miss the way she wished to touch him again with the way she handed back his quill, or the sultry tone with which she spoke shortly thereafter, causing him a mess of possibilities that boiled down to not-so-flattering thoughts. What is she...some kind of serial killer that gets her rocks off on guys writing? Just my luck. No weapon. Oh well. he thought to himself, becoming amused with her presence. Whether she was planning to seduce him and then try to off him, or whether she was planning to seduce herself by his action, and then try to off him was neither here nor there. He doubted sincerely that she could overcome him, and if she could, doubted even more that she could catch him if he wished not to be caught.

He took his quill, brushing his fingertips against hers in a slightly seductive manner himself. Two can play at this game. he thought to himself with another charming smile adorning his lips as he let her settle, noting her distance passively as he began to continue his chapter in the book labeled Memoirs of a Traveling AM teacher.

The man had hardly lifted his quill from the page as he listened to her speak, multi-tasking in a way that many could not. Santi had learned to write and listen at the same time while traveling through a country full of people whose native tongue was quite rapidly-paced. He'd had no choice. Her laugh served for a little more creativity, and he began to realize that her presence affected him in a manner that was not only proactive, but also enjoyable. It's not like she was hard on the eyes, and her seductive tone served to sate small sexual desires here and there as her presence helped him create his memoirs. This woman could indeed be useful, so he thought to grace her with his name.

Well met, Ms. Deòir. Or is it Mrs.?" he asked with an innocent charm, looking up from his paper to allow his newly softened gaze to meet hers. "My name is Saintilus Prometheae. Pleasure to meet you." he mused, seeing that his more subtle charm was not so honey-soaked as to be obvious, but just enough to keep her interested.
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Lanthe K. Deòir

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   February 1st 2013, 10:18 pm


“Oh, please darling,” she laughed, as if enjoying a private joke, “I’m much more pleasant a guest than a succubus.”

That is a new one, though. Demon, I have been called. Succubus? I may have to take that,
came the bemused thought thereafter.

While her thoughts strayed, her eyes were focused quite diligently on his notebook. As unobtrusively as possible, though she cared little whether he noticed her staring, she absorbed every detail of his work. She was fascinated as ever by the way his quill—the very one she had just held!—was able to form such neat and orderly letters, breathing life into the jointure of their energies by way of his hand. It left her feeling vaguely envious, but more importantly, it enticed her, an emerald held before a possessive dragon.

For a moment, she wondered if he knew what he was doing to her, then, blankly, decided that it didn’t really matter. Here he was, fresh, young, and handsome—oh now she did sound like a succubus, didn’t she?—and freely writing things for her with hardly more than a few brushes of fingertips here or there. Flirting with her or simply returning her advances, it mattered little to her so long as he wrote. What were human emotions to a fae? Nothing but playthings on a marionettes strings.

“Mrs. Deòir would have been Thomas’ wife,” she murmured quickly under her breath. Pending he had ever had eyes for anyone other than me. But, shaking the long-dead poet from her mind, she graced him with a smile and shook her head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Prometheae. Please, call me Lanthe. May I ask what you are writing?”

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Saintilus M. Prometheae

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   February 1st 2013, 10:58 pm

Now left wondering who in the hell this Thomas was, Santi chuckled, slowly nailing down precisely what she was as he eliminated possibilities. Her staring upon his notebook was blatant, and he had to wonder if her own lack of ability to write fueled her desire to see others do so. Perhaps her creativity spilled into his own somehow, and she stayed to watch it work. These things, of course, he'd have to research next he stopped by the AM house, or perhaps his own library, but those could wait. For now, he'd use her desire and boon of creativity to sate his own feelings and needs while having a little fun.

"Succubi actually aren't too unpleasant at first. If you know how to play your cards, you can get just about every guilty pleasure out of the beautiful bodies that you wish before they attempt to sink their fangs, claws, or whatever-the-fuck into you. Then you just have to snap their pretty little neck as they've just attempted murder. he replied, very matter of factly, adding his justified killing to the end out of pure habit. The man hated to take a life, but he would not hesitate to take the life of a criminal, no matter the criminal's identity or race.

Writing at least a page more, Santi paused to turn the page in his book, raising a brow at her final question and smiling seductively towards her. Just for fun, of course. he reminded himself aptly, swishing the feather across her nose not unlike she had done to him before allowing his fingertips to brush her lips lightly, pulling his hand away and going back to his writing.

"You may, Lanthe." came the teacher's answer from the traveling instructor. Often, he found students the most frustrated by this answer, as it showed their age, and indeed, interest in the answer as well. The more willing they were to learn the answer, the more annoyed they were at having to repeat themselves. Youth played a small part in sparking the emotions, sometimes, causing a yelling repeat that earned them a rap over the head with his knuckles. Not a combat blow, by any means, but just enough to remind them who they were speaking to. This woman, however, could react any way she pleased and he doubted it would bother him too much. She was far too amusing to the man for her own good.

The renewed touch across her surprisingly gentle lips left his right hand quite busy writing, and he made another leaping progression of a finished chapter in his book. Letting his left hand free, he placed it on the back of the bench, inviting her in to read. That is, if she could, indeed, read? He'd better ask.

"Since you seem to be so interested, you may read as I write if you wish. That is, if you don't mind being so close." he teased, subtly disguising his question in a statement and chuckling in his mind at the show.
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Lanthe K. Deòir

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   February 2nd 2013, 3:01 am


Saintilus’ account of how to deal with succubae had Lanthe smiling, though it held little mirth. She seemed to be contemplating something, a shadow of a cloud passing o’er the moon like a haze of smoke over the embers of her eyes. Cupping her cheek with the palm of her hand, she tapped her fingers lightly against the smooth, cold skin and watched the man until the cloud passed, at which point she shut her eyes, and the smile teasing her lips acquired at least the semblance of warmth and amusement.

“You speak as if you’ve done this before,” she observed. “Though you also speak with a black and white view of morality—a human view, if you will. Did you consider that supernatural creatures might have a supernatural set of morals? You think it is wrong for them to kill men for survival, but you see no problem in a wild animal hunting other animals to do the same, do you? Or, for that matter, to justify your own murder—a kill in self-defense.” Giving an exaggerated sigh, she shook her head. “No need to worry about that from me, however. What use would men be to me if I killed them? Besides, killing is such nasty business,” she lamented.

Though the sexual element to his smile was not uncommon in her experience with men, it was not the lewd, leering simper of a chauvinist, nor the cocky, smart-assed smirk of a womanizer or a lover who knew for sure that he would be “tapping that” later that night. It caused a stirring in her that she hadn’t experienced before, and as he brushed his fingers across her lips, she sucked in a soft breath and had to fight the urge not to do something provocative. The strangest part was, perhaps, that she didn’t really feel a need or a desire to engage in any sexual intercourse with him—it wouldn’t be entirely unpleasant if such a thing were to happen, though.

I already like the sound of my name on his lips, purred that dark voice in the back of her mind, nevertheless.

At his forcing her to repeat her question, she merely raised an eyebrow and, refusing in stubborn silence, scooted closer the moment he made the way available. Partly from the cold, and partly from the delicious feeling she acquired from knowing that she drove men wild and became the center of their thoughts, she nestled in close to his side, fitting her petite form against the muscular cradle of his ribcage as if it had been made for her. The sudden surge of contact points between them had her shivering as she leaned across his chest to read the words he penned, though she was careful not to obstruct his writing. Not half as intimate an action as his touching her lips—she had found that the more intimate an action, the thinner the barriers between her glamour and a mortal’s soul became—but outdone in sheer surface area, their new position created a steady current between their bodies, warm and golden as the sun in a quickly darkening night, the atmosphere thick with building tension.

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Saintilus M. Prometheae

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   February 4th 2013, 4:31 am

Her inferences were much the same as his at a young age, and such were the views of many elder immortals he had encountered. These things, however, were not his to decide. "Such views of morality are interesting, and I could speak at length at the different psychoanalysis pieces I've written about the differences betwixt mortal and immortal morals. Or even about how some things should be left to nature to decide, but that is not the world we live in. That is chaos, where there is no hierarchy, and no rules. T'would be fun, but..." Santi answered immediately, breathing softly and gazing back down at her through his pause.

"Alas, whether something is right or wrong, is not my business to decide. There is a very simple distinction made between legal and illegal, as the code has been established and is available to both mortal and immortal. I simply follow the law, and for that, there is no place for the view of morality. There is simply justice." he finished easily and poetically, reciting his argument as if in view of a stage.

Though some part of his mind wondered whether he'd put her off, her acceptance of his offer to move closer didn't state that. Idly, his fingers traced small designs on her shoulder as their newfound position found him writing once more, fallen silent from his poetic reply.

Her position was not without its benefits, however. His eyes glanced lower every now and again to admire her body when he looked to see if she was paying attention enough to his writing to get the answer to her earlier question. Her lack of repetition did not miss his sharp mind. Possibly sharper due to her presence and touch. His mind was much more easily multi-tasking as he perused possibilities of enhancing this relation for the fun of it. The fact that she intrigued him was easily hidden beneath his prideful cover of his actions being a game.

Turning slightly into her current position, he paused his writing after a small while, and tilted his face to find her eyes in an attempt to draw her to pay attention with a warm gaze from the pools of honey that were currently his eyes. So you don't wish to kill me, and you enjoy my writing. You're also cold." he observed, noting her closeness without making provocative movements. What would you do if I were to move my writing to my study?" came the bold question asked in the most provocative and inviting way, as his fingers trailed from her jaw to her chin seductively. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife as deep within his mind, another resounding chuckle came, though whether it was to the game, or the man denying there was now more underlying this game, that was yet to be seen.
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Lanthe K. Deòir

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   February 4th 2013, 9:30 pm


“We weren’t speaking of ‘lawful’ and ‘unlawful,’ though, now were we?” she reminded him with a small smile at his reasoning. “You know, one might even say that you invited your own disaster by engaging in such dalliances in the first place. But, alas, I digress. I never was much interested in moral systems.”

They fascinate me…I just don’t understand them.


His subsequent silence was of no consequence to her. She enjoyed when her mortals read aloud to her, yes, but she had eyes sufficient enough to read. Though cruel design had fated she could not create, at the very least it had not denied her the enjoyment of what was made by others. Her eyes caressed each shapely letter of the scripted handwriting, a fleeting—but sweet!—lover as she flitted along the page. Every so often, she would shiver as his mind failed him and he drew on her glamour—surely, he could feel it too? That deep, rich, wonderful…ohh. If not, what a pitiful existence, and she let him think that her quivering derived from the cold or from his absent-minded caresses (which, in part, it did).

In her position of so severe an incline across his torso, when Saintilus turned, Lanthe found her chest pressed to his. Lifting her gaze, she found her eyes caught in his stare and wondered vaguely if honey attracted fae for being sweet or for its color. The amber of his eyes was a very attractive hue. She drew herself slowly up his body, her nose tracing the silhouette of his torso and tickling against his as she came to a stop.

“Well,” she murmured, gazing up from beneath her lashes as her lips grazed his with every word, “I would have to follow you, of course.”

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Saintilus M. Prometheae

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PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   February 5th 2013, 3:46 am

Santi, like any male mortal or immortal, enjoyed the feeling of her chest pressing against his. The angle of his turn, though not meant for that purpose originally, was of genius design really. Letting her question fade into the silence, he chose instead to answer the more pressing statement to her as his mind processed the things he would have at the end of the night. This woman was far too wily and knowledgeable to be a student, so she was fair game, but more importantly, a won game.

The hand that still wandered on her shoulder grabbed it firmly, but not violently so, pulling her body against his own—his last words a deep, charming whisper against her lips. "I see no disaster here. Simply fun to be had."

Checkmate. he thought to himself, pressing his lips against hers willingly and lustfully, retaining his conscious thought to keep her allured as the buzz of inspiration drawn from her tripled. It wasn't long before he realized that while the energy was used to be creative had been directed at his writing before, the object of attention, and thus, the inspiration he was getting, had drastically changed. If the hunter could have smiled, he would have, however the kiss he drew into deepened with his inability to control the energy flowing through him just yet.

Soon, his hands would probably wander this body, but for now, he kept his free hand to her shoulder blades, keeping himself in check as much as he could, getting slowly used to the flow of inspiration. After every heated moment in which he felt he could pull away, he felt a new rush which kept his lips pressed to hers. The man's mind was not as befuddled as he could see a typical human male's being, as he had undergone training to resist temptations such as this, and was wary of her wiles before this moment. Still, her energy had him, but probably not to the level to which she was used to, as his hands and movements were his own.

My energy has no..strength to oppose this amount of desire. I shall have to capitalize on it, and take her. came the arrogantly defeated thought as a wave of his own energy accepted hers. Using his right hand, his notebook and quill were quickly put away, freeing it then to pick her up horizontally across his arms and carry her through the park to his study.
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Lanthe K. Deòir

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Gender : Female Posts : 15
Karats : 420

PostSubject: Re: Shakespeare in the Park, complete   February 5th 2013, 9:38 pm


Pulled suddenly again Saintilus’ chest, Lanthe placed her own hands against his shoulders, hardly room for a single sheet of paper between their bodies. Like a spark to dry kindling or a field of oil, his kiss ignited an inferno of energy between her glamour and his soul. Her stomach tightened and her head whirled with the sudden influx of emotion. What had before been a mediated and steady pull in his general direction became an all-encompassing vacuum of need with his center of gravity at its center. She could only imagine what he had planned, and what that would do for the growing exchange of energy.

Checkmate, she smiled to herself, moving her lips against his with expert form. Oh, Saintilus, you’re mine now, darling.

Licking imploringly at the corner of his mouth to deepen his kiss, she reached up and fisted a hand in his hair. If he wanted a challenge, more than just a willing partner, he would find it. Though she existed primarily as a muse, sexual relationships were not uncommon between she and her mortals, and they often resulted in richer, more inspired works not long after. Many a man had been allured by the way they found themselves feeling around her, enticed by how “electric” their relationship was from the get-go. Absent from what emotional attachment this could bring, Lanthe was not bothered by their illusory fantasies, and though she wouldn’t miss it if he hadn’t decided to take her to bed, she certainly wasn’t going to say no on any account. She needed no emotional guidance, no promises of roses and rings in the morning, to indulge in this man.

As his aura finally acquiesced to hers, its sudden surge left her blood fizzing with unexpressed creative energy catered to his specific needs. She gave a soft coo in response, breathing out gently into the kiss as their breaths mixed. Her arms slid around his shoulders with no protest as he picked her up, and she nestled quite happily against his chest as they left the park behind.



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Shakespeare in the Park, complete

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