when the poets and pornstars align (closed to storm veritas)

[Slavegirl]

((Closed to Storm Veritas))

Natalya took a deep breath of the crisp winter air, savoring the odor of woodsmoke and cooking fish as she walked near the docks. Vendors cried out to her and any other who might listen, and here and there she stopped to trade a copper for some tasty on a stick or wrapped in wax paper. She'd have to remember that baker near Redbone Alley - he made the flakiest little fruit-filled pies she'd ever had in her life. The taste of apples and cinnamon lingered in her mouth and turned up the corners of her mouth up in a satisfied smile.

It had been entirely too long since she'd strolled through Radasanth with no particular destination. The former slave realized now just how much she'd missed the freedom of the city. With a slight jump in her stomach she realized that more than anywhere else, this bustling metropolis was her home.

Distractedly passing a cart filled with barrels of salted fish, Natalya smiled at the child who led the mule that pulled it. Wiping her hands on her skirt to get rid of any stickiness, she swept her dark curls from her face and pulled them back into a loose ponytail. The salty breath of the wind kissed her alabaster cheeks and left them with a rosy sheen and she looked up at the gulls screeching overhead with a laugh.

The world was right for once - the hotel down in Fallien was back on its feet and running find with no need for her to stick around, she had enough coin to last her for several months before she would need to find any employment, and most importantly Natalya had a plan to free her family from the Yorani enslavement. A happy shiver thrilled through the former slave's body and she picked up the pace as she neared the busy downtown area of Radasanth.

[Storm Veritas]

Home again.

Storm felt as though his life was lacking a scratch of purpose these days, as he felt as though he had conquered far too much. He had gone toe to toe with man-gods, fought tooth and nail against horrendous beasts, and had enjoyed both fame and indemnity for his troubles. It was necessary for him to be awarded with such a clean slate in the eyes of the Radasanth police, for as for him to return to town, he generally expected to spend far too much time slipping through shadows and sleeping the sun away. It wasn’t so much that he feared the police force, but rather felt them to be a right nuisance. Even though killing cops was far from beneath him, it was tedious, and the level of heat in town never seemed to subside.

Clean slate my ass.

Although he had been officially been given pardon for some past sins, the people of Corone felt differently. Storm Veritas had many names in town, some created by clever journalists, and others more simplistic. His personal favorite was “The Monster”, something which came about as a result of a series of hits he had been hired to perform. Things had a tendency to get ugly, and the powerful rarely thrive on discretion.

In their eyes, you’ll always be “The Monster”.

It was glaringly evident on his first turn back. A newspaper, a drumstick, and a beer were hardly extraordinary fare for the Radasanth marketplace, but to see these things handed over to Storm was beyond staggering. The shopkeeps handed him items like they were trying to feed a tiger, acting with such tentative and careful motions that they seemed to expect Veritas to spring hell upon them.

The smiles, generous tips, and handshakes offered little reprieve. Although the men and women in town seemed willing to accept a handshake, they also always held their breath before contact. The rumors regarding his electrical prowess had no doubt spread, but terror gripped these citizens too tightly to allow any semblance of normal behavior.

His purpose had made itself evident enough; he had to win over the favor of the Radasanthians again. One person at a time, if needed. While stories of him would spread down to the grandchildren of the youngest boys and girls in town, were he to live here the fear of him would have to be tempered.

At least tempered a –little- bit.

He bit deep into his drumstick, violently pulling away a delicious chunk of turkey. The cool air rubbed his face and his eyes darted openly about the market.

Was there anyone here that didn’t want to either run from him or kill him?

[Slavegirl]

Lazily, Natalya continued to meander through the shops. She let her mind fall slightly open, letting the thoughts and dreams and fears of the people around her drift in and out like water in a tidal pool. They would swell loudly and then ebb, mostly thoughts of money or weather or that pretty girl at the shop next door and would she say yes if he asked her to dinner.

As she walked deeper into the downtown market area though, the thoughts began to contain fear or doubt or awe more and more frequently. The former slave began to focus on these thoughts, curiousity piqued at who or what could cause such a big deal.

He came into sight at almost the same moment that he came into mind. An amused smile twisted her lips, and Natalya shook her head as she watched her friend and his doubtful followers. A nudge at his thoughts and she knew he was perfectly aware of what they thought of him. But was he aware yet of her?

Quite purposefully she skirted behind a cart overflowing with aromatic overripe fruit, and got within his line of sight. Give him a few moments and he'd know she was there - she needn't pry into his thoughts and show him where she was. Nonchalantly, Natalya began filling a brown paper sack with candies and dried fruits, humming distractedly to herself as she continued to enjoy the amusing thoughts that the townsfolk sent buzzing in her direction like a swarm of bees.

[Storm Veritas]

The answer came beneath a few patches of cloth, linen, and leather that hugged curves so meticulously that they must have been cut from the hand of God himself.

Storm saw her, the delicate hand first. Small, but powerful, and both war-torn and sexy. It was Natalya; there would be no other like her. He saw her coyly move to and fro amongst the carts as though every man in the market wasn't tripping over himself to get a better look.

She was the perfect seductress, from the unassuming movements, where one didn't know if she realized cocking a hip in one direction showed off her ass so perfectly or not. The type of game she played was likely full-on intentional, as a woman of her fantastic sexuality could likely grow bored with the Radasanthian barbarians very quickly.

There you are, sexy thing. Keep moving, keep tantalizing. Keep their tongues wagging and eyes glossed over. You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?

Of course she did. He didn't make eye contact with her. He wouldn't be so obvious. Their history was simple and yet storied enough. His confidence and swagger was nearly unprecedented, and certainly he knew that if he couldn't coerce her, then none in this circle of buffoons would have a prayer.

He circled behind her, deciding that she had no doubt seen him by now. He pulled at his cufflinks, extending his sleeves and straightening his suit. Her body moved slowly before him as he closed the gap between the two, and he made no secret of his approach.

Deftly, his right hand softly held her hip while his left hand moved under hers, reaching for an apple that was just out of the reach of her extended fingers. He allowed his face to graze hers as he passed it, knowing his clean shave would score him points - if he needed any more- and that if she were so disgusted she would have either moved or shown the blade she was holding.

A quiet whisper would be the primary offering.

"Good morning Natalya. You're looking sexier than ever. I think you've made my entire morning."

That would be it, at least for now. He didn't move his hand from her hip while he pulled the apple back for inspection. Her firm body pressed against his felt wonderful; he'd have to savor the seconds.

[Slavegirl]

And there it was, that glance her direction, that spark of thought which smelled heavily of her and of their past together. Lowering dark eyelashes to rosy cheeks, Natalya stepped toward the vendor and paid him, smiling graciously as he fawned over her and gave her a discount for her astounding beauty. She blushed as was expected of her and then moved on to the next shop, always keeping her quarry in mind if not in line of sight.

A fresh fruit vendor actually had a decent crop of apples and pears and she paused before them, aware of Storm as he approached behind her. A blade against his thigh would be an amusing response to the hand on the curve of her hip, but his touch thrilled through her instead and she simply pressed back against his chest, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she breathed in his scent. If any other man had ever had this effect on her, she certainly couldn't remember him now.

His face was smooth, and she smiled as it gently nudged beside hers to reach for that perfectly green apple just beyond her hand. His low voice, barely a whisper led a shiver down the back of her neck that ended somewhere much lower.

"Good morning Storm," she purred back, turning to face him, back leaned against the cart, hands braced on either side of herself, "I'm glad I could be of service to you."

The urge was to remain standing there, eyes locked, cheeks flushed, breath a little rushed. But that wasn't the name of the game. Quite the contrary in fact, and Natalya reminded herself of this as she purposefully moved his arm and stepped away from him, leaving him once more with a view of her backside.

"It's nice to see you too of course," Natalya threw the words in his direction as if they barely mattered, "Funny the things they say about you here."

[Storm Veritas]

He smiled at her. He couldn't help it. Sure, it made him feel like a bit of a rube, but Natalya emanated sex from every pore in her body. The way the sun kissed off her white skin made her look so innocent, so pristine and pure. It was a stark contrast from the sultry curves and impossible presence she cut across every path she walked.

As the smile widened, accompanying dimple pressing deeper into his cheek, his eyes locked in on her stunning purple-blues. A few words, holding the confidence and presence that had helped him get here, helped him gain all this emotional equity with women.

“Well, sugar… You know what they say, believe half of what you see and none of what you hear? I think that people must have heard ghost stories about me, because they scatter like flies.”

His voice resonated softly, floating from his lips with a smooth and steady twang. He was right, too; most people looked once quickly, and then took a second glance. He knew this look. It was the gaze of a man that had seen the devil, and was trying to convince himself it wasn’t true. How many times had men lowered their eyes away from him, as though the great yellow sun was rolling through Radasanth?

Too many, he figured, making no pretense of the lovely vixen who didn’t seem scared. She had not wavered, or shook, or hesitated. Her eyes and posture were strong and unyielding. She treated him with the respect of a man, but not the fear of a god. She made him feel strong, and he longed to repay the favor.

The privacy here, in the middle of the street, was awe inspiring. Storm felt the entire areas eyes upon him and the girl, and knew that all of them feared to speak above a whisper. Only the distant calls of children and the stupid gallop of shod-foot horses broke total silence at midday in Radasanth.

“But what about you, gorgeous?” He caught her eyes blinking, perhaps some rose shade lifting beneath those lovely eyes. “Aren’t you going to turn heel and run away from the big bad man?”

[Slavegirl]

Damn, I forgot about that dimple, Natalya returned the smile, lashes folding over long-lidded eyes for a moment before turning back to Storm and putting a finger against his chest and raising an eyebrow.

"Didn't know you were a ghost," the slavegirl admitted slowly with a coy grin, "But I suppose there's got to be some way to explain you to the dumb masses, no?"

It was inevitable that her thoughts reached toward his, caressing the darker underside of each image, each word, each emotion that traversed his shadowed mind. Most of what she found, Natalya did not need to be a mind-reader to have guessed. She was a bit suprised though, that he expected her to be afraid of him.

Storm spoke the words, laying the thought bare to the world, almost as though somewhere behind those captivating slate-grey eyes, he felt each touch of Natalya's mind against his. The idea of his knowing and not flinching away was mesmerizing, almost sinfully seductive.

"Run away from you?" Natalya laughed, the sound being carried away on a gust of smoke-tinged spring wind and left scattered over the marketplace like a handful of petals or a spattering of raindrops, "I suppose maybe it would be a good idea, but then... I've always had a thing for big bad men. Or at least this one."

Shrugging, she turned from him once more, and pretended at perusing the cart of a cloth-dyer and his rainbow of wares. Slender, tapered fingers flickered across a satin dyed the exact color and shade of Storm's eyes and she supressed a smile as she moved onto the next selection at hand.

"So in a city that fears and hates you," Natalya spoke finally, "Why would you stay here? You enjoy the way they look at you? The way they cringe away from you as you pass? Or does it simply make the times when those select few stand without any fear before you that much more significant?"

[Storm Veritas]

He turned to her, smiling. The way she played in the cloth abhorred the cart owner, but the little merchant dared not speak. Storm was an imposing figure, and those that walked with him were often granted a pass. Natalya didn't need any such pass, but she still seemed to be enjoying it, as she turned and posed, arching her back slightly so her breasts raised higher and backside pressed out. There was a chance she was oblivious to this seductive alignment, but Storm thought that chance was very slim.

He thought about her question for a while, locking eyes with her and trying to keep his mouth from betraying a stoic gaze. The smile was difficult to suppress.

"I stay here because here is home. Radasanth is mine, and I've been here long enough to lay claim. I will not run from it, because frankly I like the fine things, from well aged wine to a perfect cut cigar...

"...to the beautiful women it apparently attracts."

At this, he could no longer withhold his smile. She was lovely, from the way her hair fell over her face to the way her skin seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. He simply had to have her, and he would not be able to wait.

"As for the power, I should suppose I catch fear anywhere I go. Those that don't understand me think I'm some merciless monster. Some enemy of the people, out to kill and maim and eat the brains of my victims.

"These people have no flexibility in their concept of good and evil. To walk a mile in our shoes..."

There it was. Our. Perhaps it was what made Storm so drawn to her. There were plenty of lovely girls in Radasanth, many with softer hair or bigger breasts or more easily taken. None of those girls was a warrior, and he knew that Natalya certainly was. She was as tough as she was sexy, and only wound up in her predicament as a result of horrible luck. She was a fighter, and she could be an animal when backed into a corner.

The thought made him snicker as several perverse thoughts crossed his mind. For a hardened veteran with a long list of kills to his name and longer collection of general misdeeds, he could still share a brain with a thirteen year old at times.

[Slavegirl]

Her grin mirrored his, and she raised an eyebrow and shook her head as he so overtly complimented her. The game was over for the moment, she had won this round, but would not gloat. The round was hers, the match could well belong to Storm.

Natalya tossed a silver coin at the clothier as she pulled a long scarlet ribbon from a basket overflowing with scraps of fabric. Expertly, she gathered her dark curls into the ribbon and tied it loosely at the nape of her neck, leaving the length of her throat bare, vulnerable, the tattooed column open for any to see that she had once been a slave if they recognized the markings.

"A mile in our shoes," the former slave tilted her head innocently, blinking wide blue eyes at him and pursing her full lips, "Whatever do you mean by our shoes, Storm? Surely you don't think I'm in the same class of ruthless monster as you?"

She knew better of course. It was why the two were so drawn to each other, their attraction to the power of manipulation was legendary. Their methods of course were quite varied, but the fact of their obsession was undeniable.

Her fingers traced the tattoo at her throat as she continued to stroll through the marketplace. It was past noon, and Natalya realized with a growl of her stomach she hadn't eaten in the hours since dawn. A drink and a smoke would be a lovely treat if combined with the right meal, and the former slave had her own personal tour guide to Radasanth at the moment. In front of a little bookshop, Natalya paused, waiting for Storm to come abreast of her.

"How about you buy me lunch?" Natalya purred, "I'm famished..."

[Storm Veritas]

His heart was beginning to quicken; while he was no stranger to a seductive woman there was something about Natalya that through even him off kilter. Her smile, with teeth so bright and white and straight, created the perfect saccharine contrast to a body that screamed for sin and depravity. As she spun around him, cavorting and teasing, that long collared shirt felt a little tighter, a little less comfortable.

The contact was discrete and minimal, and the few touches here or there were enough to send electric chills down his spine. She knew about the elegance of pursuit, but as such Storm was not disposed to such efforts on a regular basis. It was time to move.

"Lunch, well, that does sound delicious, albeit a bit early." He smiled, knowingly handsome, with dimples pressing in beneath his cheeks. Charm was a tough thing to shake.

With that, his hand moved slowly, cupping the underside of her jaw and softly stroking her porcelain face. He caught her eyes for a few moments in direct contrast to the flirtatious game she had wanted to play. The contact was underscored by their passing touches earlier, and she felt like warm butter in his fingertips.

"Of course, I'll need to close out my room, collect my things. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes, so no need to change plans. Come for a moment and think about what you'd like to eat."

It was a lie, of course, but certainly beat the prospect of clubbing her over the head or toting her over a shoulder. Subtlety had its place. He took her by the hand, walking her slowly behind him to his hotel. The eyes of the public had left him, although they were redirected upon the beautiful girl being led away from the cobblestone market.

Just smile, sugar. We know you're not the good girl you're letting on.

[Slavegirl]

As his hand grazed her jaw, she wondered for a moment if he had used his electric ability on her, the shock of his intentional touch leaving her vibrating in its wake. Her blue eyes flashed momentarily to pale silver, and she threw up barriers as quickly as she could, realizing that with the electricity of his touch came the electricity of his mind like a strike of lightning blinding in her thoughts. Turning her face against his hand, she nipped playfully at his palm.

"I suppose I can indulge you this once," Natalya agreed, letting him lead her, childlike, through the market, "Remember though, patience is not my virtue."

She smiled with a heavy lidded glance at Storm, a dark curl falling from its ribbon and across her face. Of course the game was obvious, there was no reason for him to close out his room just now, when he could always do it later in the evening. But she would play, Natalya would always play the game, especially when it came to this opponent. They would volley back and forth their charm, their power, until it fell between them and they collided into one another unable to continue. It was only a matter of time, and though patience wasn't her virtue, Natalya prided herself on her willpower and stubborness.

So did Storm, she knew, and so for this match the question would be who had the most. His thoughts poured openly toward her barriers, and with a happy smirk Natalya realized that they were both so tightly wound at the moment, neither would last very long at this particular game.

[Storm Veritas]

He smiled, saying little more as he led her by the hand. This romantic gesture he would carry on as simple chivalry, although Natalya was a bright girl and wouldn't be fooled so easily. It didn't matter; so long as he could justify the action, the game could be drawn out a bit more. If taking her hand was chivalrous, such an assertion was little more than an alibi for him.

The small hotel was, by Radasanth standards, very pedestrian. Large, dark stained teakwood ballasts supported the stone-founded edifice, and several brightly lit oil lanterns were well dispersed through the brightly lit forum. A short, tidy man stood behind the concierge desk, wearing ridiculous dress robes and a slack jaw at the sight of Natalya. Though he tried admirably to maintain professionalism, something about Natalya had a way of making rooms feel warmer and slacks feel a bit less... slack.

I know the feeling, champ, but pick your tongue off the floor, or they'll clean you up with a chimney broom.

Storm curtly nodded as he paraded the trophy woman to the stairs. Two quick flights and they were on his floor, a hardwooded stretch of fifty feet from his door - room 313. He hadn't bothered locking it - people didn't fare well to seek him out - but rather simply pushed open the door. He was again the gentlemen as he stood by the door, allowing the lady to enter first.

"Well, gorgeous, you should head in first and make sure it's safe for us."

A wicked grin. She even appeared to smile as she walked by, at least until he gently ran his hand over the curve of her backside as she entered.

[Slavegirl]

I could rip your mind from your head and leave you quivering on the floor before you'd ever lay hands on me, you slackjaw mouth-breather... Natalya thought at the pretentious concierge, smiling seductively as Storm practically dragged her through the lobby and its attempt at luxury. Granted, it was not horrible for Radasanth, not relatively anyways. But compared to the luxury hotel she had run for so long in Fallien, this place was barely worth her time.

They must respect him if they gave him this room with a view - or perhaps as always it was just fear - Natalya considered as Storm opened the door and, without any attempt at vanity, presented his suite to her. A maid had recently straightened it, replacing the linens and leaving the bed exquisitely made (a skill that had taken her months to teach the staff at the Phoenix). The pale blue curtains were pulled subtley back from expansive floor-to-ceiling windows, flooding the large room with sunlight.

Natalya ignored Storm's comment, smirking slightly as she stepped past him, stalking into the room like a wild thing hunting its prey.

Storm quickly became her target though, the bulk of her small form pinning him to the wall, her arm across his throat and a small dagger in his belly before his hand had time to finish its playful caress across her backside. Her eyes flashed quicksilver with mock anger as the next step in their ever intriguing dance began.

"Want to pull back a bloody stump then do we?" the former slave purred in his ear, face against his, teeth nipping not quite gently at his earlobe and then again at the exposed flesh of his throat, "Or perhaps we could take our payment in other ways?"

[Storm Veritas]

A chill went up his spine at the sight of her aggression. She was fierce; dangerous, wild, and willing. The blade against his stomach was a frightful prop; Storm knew that others before him had been less than lucky when it came to her acquiescence.

Ooh, girl, mean business do we? Be careful who you play with, you don't REALLY know what you're getting into.

His left hand traveled from her hip to her elbow, a small wave passing down her wrist to the blade. If she liked power and control, he was going to give her a run. His wrist turned as her hand tightened around his throat; if he wouldn't let her control the blade, she could control his very breath. It was very sexual, the power over his existence, and he willingly gave to her.

"Easy with the blade - you've already taken enough blood away from the brain. How the hell do you expect me to... focus?"

The speaking had become difficult; his breath was certainly short. He wanted to nip and play, but the games were actually a bit dangerous. It was time for him to take control on his own.

A quick raise of his right hand came to her jaw; it broke her deathgrip on his throat without causing any pain. He cupped her soft skin firmly, and kissed her hard on the lips. Even pressing firmly, her lips were soft, impossible soft, and moist without being wet. He wouldn't let her know that his fingers went numb when he kissed her, that as his hands slid down to hold her hips and race up her back, his stomach was turning circles.

She was sexy, she was beautiful, but to kiss her was completely overwhelming. He was butter in her hands, and he prayed she could not detect it.

[Slavegirl]

She wasn't sure entirely if it was the blood rushing in her veins or the loudness of the desire that crackled between them like thunder, but the roaring in Natalya's ears as Storm sent a thrill of power into her arm was almost overwhelming. Almost.

"Some warrior, if you can't focus just because a pretty girl takes your breath away," she smirked as she finally turned her face away from him, her mouth bruised from the violence of his kiss, "Really Storm, I thought better of you..."

Natalya couldn't so much as read a single stray thought from the man before her, the monster's emotions and fears drowned out by her own lust and heightened senses as his hands left a trail of goosebumps behind on her pale skin. If he planned to murder her, or tie her down and leave her for the maids to clean up, the telepath would never know it. Arching her back, she pressed her hips against him, twisting her leg around the back of his and lifting her hands above her head as the knife clattered to the floor.

"Wouldn't want you to feel threatened, sweetheart," she widened her eyes innocently, letting them fade to palest lavender, "I promise to play nice..."

Not that I've kept a promise in my life...