The Epistolary Episodes of a Murderous Mercenary and a Quondam Queen

[Quietus]

Sa Sevai, returned the woman in the language of her tribespeople. No glance was spared for the weapon now at her neck - no threat taken. Aver Brand may be heinously dangerous to the rest of the galaxy, but Quietus knew her to be strangely stable. With all the opportunities given to kill her in their past the only thing the Mercenary had sought to do was crack a crude remark.

3 .. 2 .. 1..

Wanna frak me with it, Queen?

Right on schedule.

A blond brow slowly lofted. That wasn't ... quite the reaction she was expecting for such a gift, but then again this was Aver.

Fffff, a breath expelled through fangs held against her lower lip, Quietus leaned in just enough to press the point of the blade at her neck for a nick, blood welling up, green eyes staring back before she receded and stepped away. You are incorrigible.

The woman turned her back to the Merc; an action not taken or made lightly by many, for certain, and took in the layout of the flat while casually uncinching the buckle to the strap of leather fastened at her waist. The studio layout was simple, with half-walls built up in areas that looked to be reinforced. Curious, were they expecting to make a last stand here? She supposed it wasn't unusual, given the locale. Even her own homes on Onderon were built in a similar manner.

Halcyon Citadel, the woman reflected as pulled apart the hook-and-eye clasps of her leather cuirass, was built to withstand siege for years. And her treehome in the wilds? It boasted hidden escape routes and weapon cashes all over. Suddenly the layout wasn't so odd, now that she'd had a moment to take it in with a strategic eye. Muted steps carried her unhurriedly through the end of the kitchen area, one hand reaching to gently stroke the helmet now sitting on the counter as she passed by. The leather cuirass hit the floor with a great deal more weight than it looked like it should, leaving Quietus to pad into the bedroom area a little less encumbered.

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver shrugged, not a shred of shame in the gesture. “I cooked you dinner, didn’t I?” she challenged with a quirked brow of her own, pointed teeth peeking past red lips.

Amused blues followed the former Queen as the blonde rose from the chair, shedding armor with languid, teasing motions. Mmmm. Lips curled wider on their own as she traced the revealed expanse of skin. Though she’d seen Quietus raw and bare on uncounted occasions, their affair was so sporadic in nature that it never ceased to be… new.

Thrilling.

Content to wait a beat longer and simply bask in the view, the merc leaned back on the table. Her red-hot gaze sauntered along the strong build of a huntress, appreciative of the muscle that would soon flex and glisten with sweat.

A wolfish grin split her face and she slipped off her perch, padding softly over to the sumptuous double bed. After carefully replacing the alchemical blade on the satin sheets, Aver drew flush against her back, resting her chin on a bare shoulder.

Allow me.

 

[Quietus]

As I recall, a wisp of a reply sounded in Aver's thoughts, you didn't cook alone.

Green gaze turned to meet the wolf grinning at her shoulder, an easy smile blooming to meet it. Humored, as usual, at the Merc's thirst. She felt hands at her middle and reached one of her own up in an encouraging cafune, holding Aver's head there just long enough for a full lick from jaw line to temple.


~~~~~

His scent was strong here. Overpowering, even, despite the shared residence with Aver. It was the only thing that gave her pause upon entering the abode. Made the former Beastia's hackles flare. It wasn't a response out of fear, no, but out of instinct. Nadir was not in any way, shape, or form her grounds to stand on. She was as much an intruder as she was a guest. It all had to do with power. So here, very much out of her element, the woman had to be careful of things. Had to keep her senses keen...as best she could around certain distractions.

In the fervor of their exchange she'd taken in stride with Aver's lead. Content with the change of pace - the pressing hunger that drove the woman, it was a foil to their often languid visits on Onderon. To impart her scent and presence in this place held its own form of ...thrill. She likened this to bringing Aver into the Citadel, into the home of her long-standing mate Lucianus Adair. Quietus didn't want Aver involved with the man anymore than she wanted to get involved with Aver's mate.

Separate worlds meant to stay separate. Damn those blue eyes.

Aver remarked on her fading scarification and tattoos as she lingered over her and it caught her unawares.

Yes, a blink as she examined her own arm which had, years previously, been freshly tattooed with a hunt scene from the last migration she'd partaken in. They were nearly gone now, along with the raised scars that had adorned her shoulder and arm. I guess they have. It's been years since I've gone back.

Would you like some new ones? Aver looked entirely too eager with her gift in her skillful grasp, drawing it flat side along her sternum.

She raised a brow in return, Only if your cutting is better than your drawing skills. A smirk followed.




...something tugged at her mind as she coiled beneath blade and lips, sweat beaded and mingling with red across her figure, smeared across the silver skin of the Firrerreo. Her skin was pinpricks of fire, every touch over every slice compounded tenfold. She felt lips on her, hands tugging and pulling, the measured weight of the Merc pressing down.

Mom?

Eyes previously lost beneath their lids suddenly blinked away the glaze of lust. The presence in her head was decidedly not Aver. No. It was the gleam of molten gold beneath the wild sun.

Morrir...

She froze, trying to focus. Really trying to focus.

Speak.

 

[Aver Brand]

The impossibly keen edge of the Queen cut… the Queen.

Ex-queen. Whatever, titles and names weren’t the point here. Opposite, really – only the very few would ever bear them, but anyone could be bled. Sa Sevai did just that as Aver dragged the cool tip through warm flesh, parting the tanned skin to lick at the redness that welled from beneath.

“I’d have thought…” she murmured, drawing the blade higher, “my skills in the kitchen would’ve convinced you.” Aver laughed – and stopped.

Quietus went rigid beneath her, and while the merc was a great many terrible things, unobservant wasn’t one of them.

Resting the knife on the nightstand, Aver pulled herself up until she could meet those jade blue eyes with half-lidded blue. Trying to discern her expression wasn’t exactly easy in the darkness of the room, but she’d never been the guessing type anyway.

“What’s wrong?”

 

[Quietus]

My son.

The response was delayed only for the effort of honing in on the connection to Arathul. He was far away. Very far away. Despite the innate blood link between them it was still a difficult task to hear him while not in a situation where she could really focus on it. Frankly, given the heat of the moment, she wasn't trying as hard as she could.

Quietus lifted a hand to press at the marking on her sternum - one of the few things aside from her Mark of Darkness that would never fade, the very same way that the three dark lines across Aver's left clavicle wouldn't. The other hand lifted to Aver's shoulder, holding the woman there. She leaned up, brow tight with the renewed fire on her skin that moving caused, pressing her face into the crook of her neck. I'm not leaving.

Arathul was safe ... enough, and there was no need to make a hasty exit. The boy had to learn somehow, the best method being to learn by doing and by making mistakes. Someone was going to have a bad day on the other side of the galaxy and she was confident that it wouldn't be him.

Fangs lightly nipped at Aver's nape, the same hand on her sternum lifting to stroke along the Mercenary's neck, and I don't want you to stop.

 

[Aver Brand]

Uncertainty, stretching out for beats and beats and beats of the rushing heart. Waiting, suspended, Aver could feel every point of slick contact – where blood and sweat intermingled, and lips found skin.

An answer, then.

If she were anyone else, my son would shatter the moment, make her roll off the heated body and into the cool sheets. It would raise questions, demand explanation – but Aver would always be herself, here more than anywhere else.

And herself meant she just smiled into the pillow as fangs raked her neck, muscles taut with pleasure. Good, was all she thought in reply as she grasped the blade again, because I don’t want to stop.

She wanted many other things besides, but verbal admissions were the exception rather than the rule. Her hands moved, and Ygdris set to telling Desdemona with her body all the things she couldn’t take to words.

 

[Quietus]

The hours of the evening passed by in what felt like reverse in the strange way that only such exchanges could really twist and contort reality. Perhaps it was the unusual play of pain woven in with pleasure creating awareness of every moment. Not a second had ticked by that she hadn't felt in equal parts ice and fire.

Water cleansed flesh of blood and sweat, screaming within wounds that begged for respite. Feed. Sleep. The former an option she would not abide tonight. Not here, not so far beyond her sphere of control, of comfort. Not when she knew what the blood of the Merc could do to her mind in small doses - but after a night of blood-letting that tugged at such deeply written carnal needs? It would not be a small dose and she did not trust herself to try it.

Sleep, however ... earlier in the night she would have refused for many of the same reasons. Now it was a curiously welcome idea.

Aver set fresh linens on the bed while she dried the braids of her hair in the fresher and looked to the cuts scattered across her body. They no longer bled but the heat and fire remained. Quietus was content to leave them as they were and let them heal on their own but the Merc caught her before the mirror and offered to assist. The gesture was as unexpected as it was unnecessary, but intrigue kept her from refusing the attention. How often did Aver make the effort to tend to others, she wondered, and so she let her tend.

Cool sheets offered some respite for the heat of her own body. Pillows were pushed aside - a luxury she never quite attached herself to - and braids sprawled to claim the open space. Eyes closed in rest as Aver milled about, slivering open only when she felt the other woman's weight and warmth settle down beside her.

Does your armor ever sleep on the bed? a question of curiosity trickled into Aver's thoughts, an image of the helmet curled up at the foot amused her enough to draw a faint smirk on the mute's lips.

 

[Aver Brand]

Blue eyes opened to a dark room.

And a voice.

Aver grunted and rolled over to face the blonde. In the back of her mind, she realized this was the first time they were actually sleeping in a bed.

“No,” a timbre gravelly with sleep emerged from within the covers. The merc curled up to tangle cold feet between Qui’s legs. What followed was a decided noise of satisfaction.

“Puppy does though.”

 

[Quietus]

Wot.

Laying on her back, eyes closed again, blond brow knit as she felt cold feet intruding upon her legs. Wasn't so bad after she got over the initial shock of icy toes on her calves. She sniffed at the goosepimples it sent up her side and she could have sworn she heard those ice cubes sizzle against the surface of near-feverish skin.

Quietus was a human heater on overdrive, except without the human part.

You must be joking.

That beast was far too big for this bed. Not to mention the claws ... they'd make party streamers out of the mattress.

 

[Aver Brand]

The shapeless pile of covers shuffled closer as Aver abandoned any attempts at sleep.

“Well, her head, if you gotta be nitpicky. It’s like…” she eyed the holoclock on the table, “2 AM.”

The merc groaned, shifting her icy feet even higher. Waaaarm.

“Do you even sleep?”

 

[Quietus]

Quietus' lips drew thin at the further encroachment of cold feets.

This had never been a problem on Onderon. It was too damn hot for cold feet. All. The. Time.

Sometimes I sleep, she returned, a hand reaching down to snatch the closest offending ankle, drawing it up to her middle to pull said leg over. That took care of at least one infernal ice block.

Are you a woman or an ice cube.

 

[Aver Brand]

Red lips split into a toothy smirk. Fully awake now, Aver slunk forward under the sheets, long fingers sliding over a sharp hipbone to rest low on a warm belly.

“Why not both?” The merc chuckled, closer now. “So what do you do when you’re… not sleeping?”

 

[Quietus]

Pffffff.

The collective breath within her lungs expelled through lips as a chilly hand snaked across her stomach. The muscles there seized briefly in shock, Quietus expelled an audible grunt. She could feel the grin on Aver's face and hear it in her voice. Didn't need to see it at all to know it was there.

I warm the chilly limbs of Merc-cicles, apparently.

She absently smoothed a warm palm along the leg now draped overtop of her.

I meditate, dream walk. Explore. Make things. Study. Read. Write. Travel. Research.

There is no reason to treat the night any differently from the day.

 

[Aver Brand]

She didn’t spend a second thought on it when she finally simply flopped half-on top of the blonde. It was too late and she was too old to care whether or not the amount of touching body surface constituted the dreaded cuddling.

Aver stayed quiet for a while, then perked up on an elbow to get a better look at Qui. The dark didn’t seem to bother her.

“Do you dance?”

 

[Quietus]

Well, that was one way to jump in feet first. You know, wading into cold waters slowly only prolonged the torture. Of course the contact would prove to be irksome to wounds that were very much still in the process of healing.

But if there was one thing Quietus had learned over the years -

A glowing green eye flickered open to look at the woman sprawling at her side. She tipped her head to nuzzle into the red hair just beneath her chin.

- it was to take the good with the bad.

She breathed deeply, releasing a long sigh into Aver's hair just before the woman propped herself up. Both green eyes met her gaze, balefully illuminated in the dark.

Does Firedancing not count?

 

[Aver Brand]

An eyebrow quirked, blue eyes smirking all of their own. “Well, I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance…” Aver husked, pressing a lazy kiss against her shoulder. It was one of her fonder memories – tattoos coming to life under flickering flames, tan skin growing ever more exposed as the Queen shed her clothes…

She blinked the image away.

“But— not what I meant.” She puffed a strand of hair from her face. “You know. Civilized dancing? Waltz, fox… tango?”

 

[Quietus]

She smirked in response, fingertips lightly tracing patterns along the pale thigh at her middle.

You mean that thing people do in tuxedos and dresses and heels and fancy frippery.

Her lips pressed together in a moment of mental discomfiture as memories long laid to rest came unbidden to her mind's eye. She frowned and closed her eyes again, willing them away. Far, far away.

No, not in 500 years have I done such things.

 

[Aver Brand]

“Really,” the merc drawled, delight positively oozing from her voice. She ghosted her cool fingers upwards, along the paths of scars and tattoos she could follow without a single downward glance.

“Would you… get drunk in tuxedos and dresses and heels and go rip that fancy frippery in a backroom while the rest of the civilized assholes dance?”

A beat.

“With me?”

 

[Quietus]

That got an audible snort.

No.

She was joking again, surely.

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver clicked her tongue. Hm.

Finally— “Why not? You,” she stabbed the traveling finger into her chest, “have no idea how hot I look in a tux.”