The Lady Doth Protest Too Much, Methinks

[Aver Brand]

Somewhat more muddy for the experience, Aver caught step with the Beastia as she weaved through the crowd. When they reached the bank she’d already polished off the mead. Bit of a dry throat after that scuffle with the tiny menace.

“This is more like it.” The merc chucked the empty horn onto a nearby table, grinning. Someone shrieked below – sprained ankle, looked like. The man limped away with the help of a friend, through with how they were swaying, it was hard to tell who was offering the support.

One foot already over the bank, Aver leaned back and tugged Qui closer by the bone necklace. A quick kiss, stolen with impudence, and then she was gone.

Soon as she slid down to the shore, she was already knee-deep in mud. It didn’t deter her in the slightest – the merc stomped over to the empty spot, braced against the log, and shoved.

 

[Quietus]

Impudence.

The widening of her eyes spoke of surprise, the narrowing of mirth. Couldn't be too sure if a kiss from the Beastia was good luck or not, but certainly Aver didn't need luck for anything. She just needed brute strength.

Finding herself challenged, of course, by the 16 year old boy Arathul may have caught her off guard. Ari still had plenty of growing to do, but he was nothing close to human and contained all the potential to defeat the Beastia in single combat one day. Pureblooded Aszai heritage had its advantages. She watched him grin as Aver's arms locked under the massive wooden beam and sent his team reeling backwards in the mud.

"HOLD!" the boy growled at his team, digging his heels in and baring his fangs over the top of the beam at the woman, "RAAAAH."

They shoved back and bandied their opponents deeper into the waters, zig-zagging in concerted efforts against each other until half of each teams were submerged up to their waists. The upper half of the beam just needed to pin one way or another, pushing the rest of either team into the river for a victory. Ari set his jaw and ground his feet through the riverbed, searching for sturdy purchase to push off from.

 

[Aver Brand]

Though not quite drunk (yet, she could hear Qui’s voice echo in her head), Aver was well past her fourth pitcher of mead. Unleashed from years of schooled impassivity, the expression of surprise ran amok over her features. The mercenary flashed her own sharp teeth in reply and braced against the log.

Off they went; squelching, splashing, snarling. The mud and water lapped hungry at their feet as the contestants fell over one by one. In no time at all, it was just Arathul and Aver – the vigor of youth pitted against the measured endurance of experience.

She filled her lungs with the smoke and bog – and relented. Abruptly, all of her opposing force evaporated, leaving Ari shoving all that pureblood strength at empty air. The boy floundered for footing in the treacherous muck, trampled from their roundabout scuffle. Bark burns and all, Aver grinned.

Cunning like a brick to the face.

 

[Quietus]

It was a messy show to watch, for certain. Quietus stood off along the nearby bridge amidst the roaring, snarling crowds as the log push teetered back and forth between the two teams. One after another the competitors succumbed to injury, entrapment within the mud, and exhaustion (or drunkenness, chance be), until just the pair were left.

She observed with a fair amount of smugness as the boy gave Aver a run for her money. She often denied that she was a doting mother, but the pride for her peons as they weathered through their childhood was a reoccuring sentiment. Arathul might not truly be her son but damn if she didn't love the expressive reaction he drew out of the Mercenary. By the time it was all over, both Beastling and Merc lolling in the mud, the Beastia was grinning serenely from ear to ear.

The other competitors that were physically capable were swimming across the river, washing away the mud and muck, to walk up the opposite bank where the shore was undisturbed and firm beneath their feet. Quietus moved with the flow of the crowd as it shifted currents to the veritable city constructed of tents and festivities along the far shore. A cry had gone up from the large center square where a massive bonfire roared surrounded by dancing, chanting, singing people. Breaking from the masses to walk the upper bank of the river, bare feet traipsing through soft grasses, she beckoned to Aver with a beated step. A jingling of metallic beads and bells in tune to the sway of her hips and the distant music.

 

[Aver Brand]

Blame it on the alcohol.

That’s what Aver was going to claim in a few hours, when she was once again reacquainted with sobriety. For now she was content to remain indignant at the winded sound of her own laughter as she rose from the sopping mud. Ari found his feet beside her with a similar splutter. If it weren’t for the head she had on him, they’d be indistinguishable in their impression of the Swamp Thing.

Wordlessly they clasped their forearms, grinning, and marched straight into the swirling gray waters.

She emerged to a Qui still sporting the delighted grin of a proud mother. Rolling her eyes, Aver flicked her dripping hair at that insufferable expression. Still, the night was closing in, and her wet clothes clung to her cooling flesh. Warmth beckoned beyond the tents, flames licking up into the tar sky.

The din of the ebbing crowd offered a heated privacy when they stopped at the edge of the flickering light. Aver drew flush against the back of the blonde, ducking her chin to nuzzle the braided mane out of the way. She traced her fingers down the spine of the Beastia as she spoke, letting the words crack her rough whisper.

“Doesn’t valiant battle deserve a reward, my Queen?”

 

[Quietus]

A reward? Valiant battle?

The Beastia's mouth split into a sharp grin and she turned, still painted by the dried blood of the feast, to press that grin against the Mercenary's lips. Not simply a congratulatory kiss, but a reminder of the things that had transpired before the feast had even began. A reminder of the feast before the feast that Aver had not been permitted to partake in. Something more for her to drink and be drunk upon. A taste of fire and blood - but just a taste. Beastia had to temper herself, lest she become lost in the throes of bloodlust again.

She broke from her, a strong hand at the woman's neck to hold her off, needs be, and gave her the look of an expectant predator. A look Aver Brand likely knew very well.

Come with me.

Leading her through this festival of tents, weaving through the thousands of faces and voices, music and song, smells and palpable taste on the air. They came to the communal center point where a massive pyre roared surrounded by dozens of other pit fires. It was here that she stole away to a private campsite to the north, following a footpath that ran between long beds of flaming coals. A large tent stood towards the back beneath the open summer skies, smoke coiling upwards from another large campfire. She brought Aver to an area of repose situated beneath an awning of broad leaves and draped lengths of cloth. Pelt rolls laid out upon beds of cushions filled with wool and dried meadow grass were set by large pillows, braziers alight along either side, a spread of food and drink between them.

The Beastia lived comfortably between all the instances of violence and war and despite the savage realm they called home.

Make yourself comfortable, she gestured to the area.

 

[Aver Brand]

And make herself comfortable she did. With the grin she’d stolen off Qui’s lips, Aver sprawled against the pillows. She curled her fingers, rolled her neck; stretched the ache out of her muscles. The kid had definitely given her a run for her money with that log.

Still, a roll in the mud was a small price to pay for the sight before her now.

Icy eyes twinkled in the darkness as she watched the queen move. Crackling braziers breathed life into the lines of war and ritual etched into bronze skin. The flames flickered, and the tattoos danced along with the Beastia.

 

[Quietus]

A dance transpired before the Mercenary, beginning with the subdued glow of hot coals beneath bare and nimble feet. Limbs shifting, reaching, curling, uprooting small embers to mingle in the air against the gleam of silver beads. Their tune existed in the rumble of the drums and singing from the main pyre within the trees, tinkling like bells to the shift of body and the beat of movement.

Fingers coiled, arms slowly snaking out to draw in the lick of flames. The furling stride and twist of motion straddled the heat of fire. Reds and oranges as brilliant as the skreevs running flush along sweat-beaded bronze. Not to burn or maim, but to join the dance as bidden by those esoteric forces she Mastered. A dash of powder drew forth a roar of blue flame, another dash a curling serpent of red smoke. Green eyes rolled in response to the magic of carefully chosen herbs whose essence released the soul into the world between worlds.

The dance continued, sinuous and freeing as bonds for the layers concealing painted flesh caught light and burned away. Coiling muscle rolled along waves of flame, beckoning the lone on-looker to in this show of sensuality. Such was the purpose of the Fire Dance.

 

[Aver Brand]

Idly, Aver wondered if you could still call it a striptease when the clothes burned away.

Idly, that is, because she was becoming rapidly disinterested in finding a definitive answer to her wayward musings. She was a creature of simple pleasures – watching was certainly among them.

Her lips curled into a smile even as flames curled around the Beastia. Back on Nadir, she could have a hundred beautiful women (and men, and aliens) dancing at her whim. They would all come at her beckoning, as behooved her station.

Yet the sensualities they could offer couldn’t hold a candle to a gift freely given. All things she owned in life, she did because she had taken them – laid her claim upon them with the heaviest fist and sharpest wit.

Aver leaned back a wet her lips. Her thoughts were quiet now; rather a mirror to the flickering dance of the flames. She’d taken none of the herbs gone to cinder in the fire, but the intoxication seeped into her blood just the same.

 

[Quietus]

Drumming beat on the wind carried an uproarious cry as the festival celebrations peaked. A wave of frenetic chaos, painted faces blazing between campfires, bodies undulating in the dance of harvest and the joy of a battle won. Even the trees and lands seemed to join, a thrumming heartbeat seeming to pulse within the ground beneath their feet.

Quietus pulled from the flames to descend upon the watchful Mercenary, glinting jungle emeralds a reflection of the wilds that surrounded them. Skin as hot as the flames that roared behind her, coiling with the gleam of metallic remnants holding fast, still offering a chorus of chimes with each swiveling motion. When she leaned in towards Aver, lips like angry embers, she brought the taste of the untamed fathoms with her; of fire and ash; of the hunt and the feast; of the winds and the jungles; of the beasts and their fervor.

To devour and be devoured until the night swallowed them whole and released them into the world between worlds, until the skies blazed orange again.