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shadowbringers

beneath the stars

It's been a week since our newest expansion officially launched! And, I know, I know... some of you already have a lot of feelings that you need to air out. But canon updating in your games is a struggle! And so is finding PSL partners! Luckily, that's what we're here for.

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[ funny because at times that was all Emet-Selch did do was sleep-- certainly aside from the wanderings throughout the first to see exactly how changes were wrought upon the Star, he would find a quiet place to just nap-- that was the key number one way of staving off the infernal boredom of being alive for a near milleninum-- one could only see so much change-- humans could only discover fire so many times before it just seemed rather overdone. Human ingenuity touched him, but he had seen it all before. The glorious rise and then the equally catastrophic and tumultuous fall. He never truly dreamt though, he sank into memories; occasionally he would find something to be amused by; either the sound of his own prosaic back and forth or something new and delightful-- though over his many lifetimes, the thrill of firsts had died down into a glorious pit of ennui.

So it was almost a surprise with Sigr-- and for a brief moment, he felt some life flow into him, some sincere life; and amusement. He lived on the feeling of amusement and he clung to the novelty-- it kept out the wretched thoughts that seemed to spin around in his mind and refuse to stop-- so if there was a chance at levity, jaded soul that he was-- he would seize upon it.

In essence, perhaps Sigr was doing him a favor.

He shrugged a bit, though his lips managed to quirk-- and if he knew that Sigr found him even remotely attractive-- that would've appealed to a much baser side to him-- but maybe he still had somewhat of an idea, and that was intriguing to say the least. Perhaps he'd have to endeavor to be a little more entertaining in terms of company; complying could do nothing but stave off boredom-- and hurtling toward the Rejoining had thus far proven to be tedious. ]

I always have questions, my delightfully furry friend-- and since you've asked such an amusing one, I feel that it's only fair that I rise to the occasion.

[ Evil ascian plans were always on the menu; incessantly so. But there was a part of Emet-Selch that appeared to almost 'be' human, what with statements left ever so vaugely that there was some part of him that was envious of the human expirience, and also perhaps a little bit saddened by it as well. Perhaps it was because back when time began for him, the Amaurotines did display human like characteristics, they did love-- they had families, they debated with friends and read books underneath trees on particularly lovely days

This was perhaps the first sign of 'life' that has come from Emet-Selch with the exception of rightous indignation ]

How serious of an offense is it to pull your tail?

[ the thwap of the tail against the stone floor had certainly not escaped his notice ]

Edited 2019-08-08 20:52 (UTC)

[There is, or would be if Sigr knew, something very strange in the concept of an Ascian even having a baser side. After all, until they met Emet, the only time they had any spoken connection with the Ascians has been one preaching high and mighty about lofty goals or insulting them. This conversation, in the here and now, is the most mortal conversation he ever had with one.

His brows lift at the returned question, and for a moment he puzzles over how to respond before deciding, what the hells. Not only had Emet not just vanished back into the darkness or given him an eye roll and a droll answer, the other had responded in more ways than just the vocal. So, why not go for more?

Sigr rolls a shoulder in a shrug, giving a pointed thwap of his tail again before commenting.]

Much like pulling hair, it all depends on the context.

[Let Emet chew on that. If Sigr is being honest with himself, he's more curious about if the other even gets the double entendre.]

[ Sigr would find that as far as Ascians went, Emet-Selch was probably the most human out of the entire bunch, but that was perhaps he had lived among them. Yes, he had done some truly atrocious stuff but that was human-like, he would argue above all else. He had also experienced the sublime, he had taken joy in fatherhood when it had been ripped from him entirely too fast, he had perhaps not exactly loved but at the very least been fond of certain mortals and he had engaged in dalliance-- oh, he was no stranger to that-- if Sigr wanted to participate in this flirting, he would rise to the occasion. ]

Oh, ever have I been fond of 'hair-pulling'-- if timed in the right moment, it can inspire the most delightful reactions.

[ And then almost as a afterthought, moving over to one of the rock walls where the murals were painted, though he was not precisely 'looking' at the murals right now-- but at the Warrior of Light. No talk of tedious things at this moment, it was almost as if the Hrothgar was enjoying a moment of being human-- oh, he supposed that the other man was still under Hydaelyn's will but this subject was almost safely in the middle, beyond worlds sundered and primals dancing ]

Though as Emperor Solus, very few dared to pull my hair--

[ and then just because Emet-Selch wanted to see how far he could go, he stepped closer until he was just suddenly there, and then he very lightly nudged at Sigr's thwapping tail with the toe of his boot. He did not tread on it, but just growing awareness that he had placed himself in a position of proximity ]

Edited 2019-08-10 14:50 (UTC)

[So the Ascian is capable of knowing such things. That makes this part even so much more fun. An ear swivels, following Emet's movement in and out of his sight, even as Sigr 'relaxed' and leaned backwards on his palms. It also seems that the other has a bit of a streak in him.

...He could have lived without the reminder about Emet being a giant lie behind the Garleans, but, well, it isn't untrue what the other said. Though that sounds like it would have been very boring sex-

Then, suddenly, he can feel that boot against his tail. It instinctively makes his tail pull away, no one wants to get stepped on, but it also let Sigr lean back just a bit further so he could tilt his head back and look, slightly upside down, at Emet-Selch, both ears forward and listening intently.]

Hair or tail pulling, outside of the bedroom, is less than pleasant, and I think you know that. [His tail oh-so-accidentally flips again, the long strands of black falling across Emet's boot.] Given that both are considered intimate. Besides... in the bedroom, everyone is equal.

[Even Emperors and ancient all mighty beings.]

[ The need to positively combat boredom-- oh sure, twas near unendurable how entertaining it was to drop truth bombs upon the Scions left and right however this was a different feeling entirely, this was vastly more human in nature and it breathed life into him-- it was the same life that had him walking down different paths from his fellow Ascians, taking a more mortal approach. Mock the human expirience? He would invariably do that-- but even he could not deny that there was a poignancy to it

His eyes glance down at Sigr and perhaps the Hrothgar can see the shade of his smile, ever tilting upward, though a shade wicked. But not in a particularly villanesque way; it was just a play on how very entertained he was in this moment shared between them ]

So.. if I reachedy fingers down and curled my fingers into your fur and just every so lightly tugged, would that count as outside the bedroom?

[ it seemed as if someone had just given Emet-Selch a bit of fire to play with, and he was no stranger to dancing on a matchstick's end--

There sadly was nothing he could do about the tail starting to thwap indolently against the shine of his boots-- except to raise his foot up, letting the tail ride against it as if it was a temporary acting see-saw ]

Edited 2019-08-11 15:14 (UTC)

[Sigr hides down the flare of surprise that comes, that Emet-Selch is so willingly to actively flirt back at him, that a man of Garlemald and a man of the darkness even has such a real playful side. Is it? Or all trick? How far can it be pushed? ...Now he wants to know.]

Mmm... perhaps intent has as much meaning as location.

[He reaches up, leaning back on his other paw, and calmly runs his claws through the mentioned hair, turning it into a slow stretch meant to be allll visual at that point before he glances back up.

Thwap Thwap. The tip of Sigr's tail is rarely at rest, like any good cat, but now it's pure entertainment.]

[ Emet-Selch was capable of tricks however in this moment he decidedly wasn't, oh of course not-- the novelty of this was actually more amusement then should rightfully be had in this point in time. Ah, if his fellow Ascians could see him now, they'd probably be tsk'ing.

Or they would not be surprised at all-- really it was a roulette wheel where his brethren were concerned and with that segue he attempted to push them far out of his mind; he would after all 'do what he wanted' irregardless of what opinions they held. And he was almost tempted to reach down, see if he could feel the fur underneath his fingertips. His eyes sparkled with mirth, all honey and light even though there was no true light here in the ruins of the Quintana Ravel. ]

I had a cat once upon a time in Garlemald, and I seem to recall how they purred right when I stroked them right behind their ear-- do you purr?

[ Oh yes, this was flirting, most decidedly ]

[There it is again, that oddly human touch among all of the rest of Emet-Selch's impossible, ancient, immortal ways. A pet cat. ...A cat that wouldn't have given a damn about all of those fancy thins because cats believed themselves above all others-]

You are a cat. [Amused, Sigr speaks with the tone of someone certain about their words and malms of amused by it.] But like any cat, to find out if they purr, usually they need to be pet.

[Matched by his tilting his head, bringing his shoulders down, that hint of a fang showing in his grin.] We don't just purr on command, after all. No more than you would show up if we asked you to.

Touché--

[ Emet-Selch was not afraid to admit that he had a mortal instance of a life, one actually of many as he just couldn't resist what could only be an Ascian form of roleplay- where put himself in a body not his own and traipsed his merry way, enjoy the glory and the the trials that humanity had to offer. Most certainly a conundrum.

And how astute of Sigr to point out that perhaps the Ascian was a cat, that certainly would of been fitting-- though a pampered house cat more like it, certainly nothing within Sigr's caliber.

He finally decides to put action to this conversation, to see how it would go. His fingers slowly fall down and then his thumb manages to just brush a tuft of fur just behind Sigr's ear, and if it were not him doing this to someone with no doubt 'very' sharp senses, it likely wouldn't of been felt at all. He remembered how if he placed his hand just right, the cat would greedily lean into the touch

This was all for research, of course ]

Edited 2019-08-17 13:55 (UTC)

[It does precisely as Emet would hope, at least within the Hrothgar. That simple touch, when he's already keyed up as anyone might be with an enemy behind them, sends a shiver straight down his spine until his fur all but ripples. Visibly, his ear immediately flicks back, like it might react to a bug having landed there.

Just how far are you willing to take this? Sigr asks himself, realizing that he's pushing the boundary second by second and the Ascian is following him right over every line he chooses to cross. In the oddest way, he knows if he stopped, so would the other. How he knows that? He really couldn't say. Maybe because they've seen some strange sense of honor in the other, or maybe because he thinks it would be boring for Emet-Selch if he isn't leading the way down that dark path.

That knowledge, either way, gives him more courage than he'd care to consciously realize and lets him give a slow yawn, displaying fangs and slightly rough tongue, before his jaw closes and his eyes open again and he looks up to Emet-Selch, waiting.

Is that all?]

[ Sigr had the right of it-- the Ascian did have honour though it was a certain vein of it that was wholly Emet-Selch's brand. Overtake nations-- subjugate the masses; but when it came to the personal dance between two people; he believed firmly that it should be a dance, and that if the person did not care to dance then one should simply chose another partner with which to dance with. Though Emet-Selch's dance card had been filled many times and by many different partners, if one did not choose to dance-- he would not force them to dance.

Maybe dance a little bit more flamboyantly to show the other person what they were missing but when it came down to it-- he respected any decision that was made, no matter how much he tended to deride the human expirience-- he knew that those traditions were of great import.

Funny that he should respect that.

However once he saw that his hand hadn't been bit off, he allowed his gloved fingers to very lightly scritch right behind the ears, granting a bit more firmness to the touch than had existed previously, though his fingers massaged and gained a bit more certainty-- though his ears were on the lookout for perhaps the gift of a purr, to see if having a cat had taught him his lesson.

Though a Hrothgar might be a tougher act to follow then a mere haughty house cat ]

[Sigr's just accepted that Emet-Selch can be so flambouyant and downright hammy that he's in danger of starting a pork-aspect calamity. It's pretty clearly just who the man is, in some bizarre fashion.

As it is for now, he's quietly accepting the touch behind his ears, a spot that many lovers - and sometimes people whose lap he's plopped his head onto - have enjoyed in the past. Really, Emet is missing the best part of it because of his gloves, unable to feel the silken fur there where black and white strands meet. Still, his eyes slide shut and he leans back into it, chin up, that almost typical feline 'pleased, you may continue' pose as his tail goes still except for the slowest sway at the tip.

But it'll take more than just that to be gifted with the honor of his purr.]

[ His fingers were soft and gentle as he lightly stroked the fur there though yes, the fabric of gloves certainly did keep him from feeling the silk however his hands 'were' warm (perhaps the reason why he wore gloves, all that creation magick that was focused solely within his hands and rendered them very warm to the touch, and also giving off a faint tingle-- the gloves a reminder of distance needed). He was almost fascinated by the hrothgar, the sway of that tail that bespoke contentment with it's languid sway.

Emet-Selch had no home to speak of however there was a part of him that enjoyed this, because it reminded him of a very fleeting and intangible home--- with a cat laying just in front of a grand fireplace. A good book, wine and if one could block out Varis and Zenos' constant bickering going down the halls, it could almost be considered 'home' to him, of sorts.

Perhaps Emet-Selch had come here to wax poetic on ancient empires and primals, however he certainly had not expected this. And so he slowly lowered himself to the ground, sitting right down beside Sigr, and then just enjoyed the act of petting-- in a way, he could forget those very same things in this very simple act of rhythmic stroking ]

How do you keep your fur so soft? What is your secret?

Edited 2019-08-21 11:03 (UTC)

[Is it so true that mortals, capable of developing such luxuries as a good book and wine, who could befriend fickle creatures such as felines, are so worthy of being sacrificed again and again to bring back others? Was imagination not worthy of something? Someone had believed in them, enough to counter the plans of the Fourteen. To realize being tempered, to realize the good things that could be done, and yet to only work towards their demise... Emet-Selch believed that the Amaurotions were the stewards of the planet and it should return to that, and yet, the life on the planet was being stewarded to do horrible things that would only ensure the planet's destruction... could his irony in his statements not be seen?

And now, seated side by side, like equals, two beings sat in an old mortal past time - pet the kitty.]

Ah, but a secret told is no longer a secret. [Sigr's voice is noticeably deeper, rougher at the edges. Might that be the beginning of the sought purr?] You, of all people, enjoy holding a good secret after all.

[His eyes crack open, just enough to see some of the situation beside him without moving his head to- oh, no, right there, shift of the head to get Emet-Selch's fingers in a better spot- why not just go for it?

His paw comes up and he puts it on the other's knee, thumb rubbing in a circle.]

[ Emet-Selch was chaotic enough that he could not duly answer that question, it was one of those instances where he knew he was fond of mortals, of observing them and their ingenuity, their fragile human existance and how they seemed to rise above it-- yes, perhaps the weak did strive to be weaker, but then there were the vibrant roses struggling to breathe against the rot of the earth, struggling and fighting to grow and flower.

Just as the Garlean empire had struggled to survive (and oh did he have a fond spot in his heart still for the empire, for the true testament of to a survivor's will that pushed it ever onward), so did Eorzea and Noverant. And then at the center of that, was Sigr. It almost impressed his jaded bitter heart, though it was not quite to that point yet and he wasn't too keen on ruining his reputation by admitting to any hint of softness toward humanity. ]

I do like my secrets, though perhaps I shall a secret of mine own with you in exchange for the secret of your lustrous locks?

[ a secret for a secret, though Emet-Selch was not going to specify what manner of secret it would be-- by all rights and purposes, it would not be precisely enjoyable if one knew exactly what one was getting into with the telling of a secrets-- guess Sigr would be the one to accept that bargain if he so choose.

And then the Ascian allowed his fingers firm quite a bit more, and then at the touch, he let out a chuckle, a soft testament to the sheer unexpectedness of it, he could even feel the barest hint of claws, it was almost a reminder that Sigr was the one in control here-- and Emet-Selch was perfectly content with that.. for now. ]

[In the end, Sigr knew where it will all lead. It could lead no where else, this path they were walking, for Emet-Selch said it himself - he was tempered by a Primal, and no matter how incredible the Primal, or the stories that came with them, it meant the tempered would act in the Primal's favor and it would lead to them needing to be put down. It was all a game of when. Which only made him wonder, all over again, what it meant about him. Him and Hydaelyn and just what it meant to be tempered. Could anyone...? With a brief shake of his head, dismissing the thoughts, Sigr focused on the now. The very strange now that felt removed from time, as if in this small forgotten place in the world the rest of the world vanished until they stepped out to see it once again and solidify it into reality. He debated those words. A secret? Surely a man who lived so long had secrets layered on secrets. Any one of them would be fascinating or foolish. So, why not? Besides, he was enjoying being pet. He even allowed his thumb to move in slow circles. A Hrothgar always need watch his claws, but this was not a moment of fighting, anyway. Not that he didn't realize it could turn into such, should something happen.] I suppose such an arrangement could be acceptable. [His head tilted, just enough to show the brightness in the slightly mis-matched eyes. One blue, one green, on either side of that minty fur-marking.] A secret for a secret. [His fingers on Emet-Selch's knee tighten, like a silent acceptance of the proposal.] Fish oil. I have it distilled from the fish I catch. [And oh does he love to fish-] The alchemists get half of the batch and I get the other. Small glass of it in the morning every other day.

[ Of course it would be fish oil, he should of drawn that connection-- however he did not smell anything particularly fishy about the hair, it felt exactly like a big cat's fur should-- scented with flowers and there was a hint of mint in there somewhere. His senses had always been sharpened and even right now he drew back to that-- relying on his senses in order to formulate opinions. His fingers stroked and petted just behind that ear and then his fingers trailed down the back of that neck, managing to get a rather nice knead in there too.

It was actually wonderfully calming to pet Sigr-- but it also gave him a brief bit of homesickness too. Funny that an Ascian should feel as such, but it brought him to mind the Empire which had been his last home for an extended period of time. Here amid ruins that portended the struggle between light and dark, he had not expected such a singular emotion to wash through him-- it was curious but he would not focus on it too much-- ]

Do you brew flower oils into it as well?

[ he would inquire a little bit deeper into Sigr's secret, taking a genuine interest in the Hrothgar in a meeting that was just as surprising as the feeling of homesickness that assaulted the Ascian ]

[Such a conversation to be having, Sigr mused, with an ancient being of the darkness. What next? Discussions on aetherical gathering during spell casting? Favored past times? The opinionated past time of who had the best backside among the Scions?

The thoughts made him chuckle aloud, though perhaps it sounded more in reaction to the question about flower oils.]

I have a friend among the alchemists' guild who does the work for concoction, but you're close. [He leans himself back into the stroke along his head, letting his eyes drift shut to inky pools set against white fur. If Emet-Selch wanted to kill him, he would have tried already. No point in being tense, other than keeping an ear out.]

Mint is the main component, to fight back the odor, but mostly it's in the distilling process that he managed to take it out. I have little issue in smelling mint-fresh.

[ Oh please, do not make Emet-Selch enter into the discussion of backsides among the Scions as he would not be able to make statement that wasn't fully based on his opinion of them-- as he was not someone who thought of things objectively. Every statement that would come forth would be based on little things that would 'annoy' him in the long run and preventing him from weighing in with any true merit.

The discussion of oils though, flower.. mint or otherwise was certainly promising, promising still was the way that the Hrothgar leaned into his touch, gloved though it was and he was fighting back the temptation to merely remove his glove and touch the fur with bare hands-- but he almost never removed his gloves-- they almost came with the package, good reason that it was that he never did. He would surely become distracted touching all of the things if he did. It kept him focused being that he was a total tactile sort, the glove was a barrier meant to keep a subtle distance

The Ascian leaned in and then allowed a bit of fragrance to overtake him-- yes that was surely mint. It wasn't an unpleasant smell and it did serve it's purpose because there was not even the lingering 'trace' of a fishy smell whatsoever ]

I applaud your friend for such a ingenuous concoction, I bet you are quite popular--

Edited 2019-08-30 11:15 (UTC)

[Now now, he just had to learn to divorce the opinion of someone from their backside. After all, he could comment that he's curious if Emet-Selch's is any good, except he has all that bunching and heavy materials of his robes blocking the view. Can't make a proper opinion, there. It isn't like the Ascian hangs around them when they need to make camp as they move through the worlds - they've all had to learn to deal with one another when it comes to those moments, but he's pretty sure they've all snuck looks at one another.

If he had known anything about those gloves, or the hands beneath, he might have... well. Would it have stopped him or encouraged him? Even Sigr couldn't be sure. As it is, he leans more into the touch, letting the low rumble of sound start to come from him. It's not quite a proper purr, like the far smaller cousin of a Hrothgar could manage or even a Miqo'te's. It's deeper, more in his chest than his throat.

He didn't mind being a distraction, right now.

A curled ear flicked back as Emet-Selch leaned in, hearing the change in the distance between them. No, instead, Emet-Selch got his chance to take in Sigr's own scent. Minty, of course, but there was also just a touch of smoke about him (small surprise when he was a mage of the dark arts) combined with a raw warmth that came from being a large furred cat. There was also something sweet, different than the mint... which came from his love of sweet things that provided the necessary energy for a mage.]

It's my little secret. [Completed by a silly wink.] Only my friend and I know. Maybe I could retire selling it, someday, but for now... I like having the plushest fur of all the Hrothgar.

Oh, I have not pet many Hrothgar, to be sure however I can attest that your fur is the plushest-- very decadent, a verifiable feast for the fingers--

[ That was high praise coming from Emet-Selch though there was also no frame of reference there, however he chuckled all the same and then stroked against the fur and then allowed his fingertips to fall down a little bit further, so that he was catching the fur just underneath the ear, around the high cheekbones of Sigr, a movement that was all but indolent and slow, though also a proper respect for all cat-kind, which was of course something that carried over from his professed love for cats of the more domestic variety.

However Sigr was not domesticated-- that was nigh for certain. He could feel the energy inside of Sigr, how the other man honed it and melded it to him, there was the smell sweet smoke burning, mint and a lot of other tendrils that were a treat to the senses. He then lightly allowed his fingers to slide a little lower, to just against the jawline, gloved fingers lightly stroking there.

The Ascian trusted though that if he was overstepping, that Sigr would tell him that enough was enough. Despite being an all powerful Ascian, he did have a care for limits and bounderies which was why he disappeared so often after such sarcastic remarks, making himself absent so as to they could process his words, he gave them enough of his presence, but not too much.

After all, Emet-Selch was a little bit too much for anyone-- he had been told that many a times through different lifetimes and along different paths. But let it not be said that the Hrothgar did not intrigue him all the same-- ]

Is it, now?

[An ear flicks back towards Emet-Selch, and so does a pair of slit eyes. He only waited as long as it took for their gaze to meet before his eyes flicked towards a gloved hand, wondering just how the other would know that his fur was so very plush through the material. Still, he didn't actually say something about it, just the briefest of notions, instead following the motions of the hand still on his head and tilting into it.

Much burned inside of Sigr. Already, as a mage of forbidden arts, aether churned within and without, answering to his call in a moment's notice, crafted into raw blasting fire and condensed into searing ice or crackling electricity, and now, something new. Something infinitely heavier, clinging to his soul like a film, clawing at the edges of it in growing number, waiting for a moment of weakness to change him like it had all the rest. It was hungry, always hungry, but thus far the Warrior of Light, or of Darkness, depending, had lived up to his name and defied it.

His tail swept over the ground in slow, measured strokes, like a heartbeat of itself, before he let out a low rumble that was nearly a growl. How far would they play this? In this place that was almost sacred, how far would he let himself go? Since when had he ever even so much as hesitated when such an opportunity presented itself? And yet... and yet...

Something urged within him. Maybe something he, and not even Emet-Selch, yet realized.

Suddenly he turned, all at once, much like any good cat might, a paw coming up to the other's shoulder and pressing, a knee coming around and landing on the other's opposite side, his eyes meeting and a smirk coming to play over his lips. Bringing himself up, he 'stood' on his knees, giving himself some height so he might look down.]

Rawr. [A purely playful sound.

He might hate himself later, he would definitely hide this, but in the moment, he wasn't so sure he even believed how far this would go.]

[ 'ere was Emet-Selch always one to defy convention at every turn. Never had he truly acted as was 'expected' of him and this proverbial game of 'chicken' that he liked to play was such that he'd only back down after the other did-- else why would've he risen to the heights in the Empire if he wasn't afraid to take things one step further? No one else had been able to act with impunity and it was how he single-handedly turned a nation around that had been at the mercy of so many outside elements.

Oh no, Emet-Selch would not back down, even as Sigr maneuvered himself in such a way as to exert dominance, even with that playful way that the Hrothgar seemed to move. He recognized it for what it was and likewise he responded to it with a rather playful smile of his own, the side of his lips once again quirking but how one may determine the nature of his smile-- one only had to look into his eyes. Never was he good at hiding 'anything' with those eyes; annoyance, pleasure, mirth, anger. They were the proverbial windows to his soul and right now there was something dancing in there, a mischievous joy--

And perhaps while it might of been in bad taste to have proposed a wrestling match here in the sacred walls of the Ravel-- still it seemed fitting as well-- being that the ancient Ronkan empire had been rather fond of their sports and games as well-- just as ancient Voeburtenberg had been those natural storytellers and fable-weavers. ]

Is this a challenge?

[ Emet-Selch then placed his hand 'right' against Sigr's abdomen, lightly pressing-- at any moment an attempt to press backwards in order to give himself some leverage. Though no Ascian tricks would be used, he would use nothing but his own strength if needed, and he wasn't without a fair amount of strength and while under his robes might reveal a body that simply was not as 'muscular' as either Varis or Zenos, there was still evidence of corded muscle just underneath the surface. ]

I do so adore challenges, Sigr...

I suppose it depends on how you see it. [Taking the press against his abdomen as a request to back up, Sigr's ears flicked, back and forth, deciding, before he eased his weight back. It gave the Ascian beneath him space, but did not remove the pressure of Sigr's body from Emet-Selch's thighs. Instead, it left Sigr to peer down at him from a greater height, kneeling now with a straight back and an amused smirk that nearly matched Emet-Selch's own.

It wasn't the same kind of 'wrestling' the Ronkan had been so in favor of in the past, but it was a sort of 'sport' as ancient as time itself. Or at least, since the beginning of the end of time...

A thick fingertip landed on Emet-Selch, right at his chest, pressing lightly there as Sigr showed his fangs. The others would be aghast, angry, disappointed for what he was even thinking about right now, but there was the thought in his head ~~and in his pants~~ and it was holding tight to his mind. Maybe there was something on the idea of owning this small piece of an enemy, knowing that it was there, after everything they had done to them, to his friends and loved ones. Maybe it was a sick twisted fantasy.

He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he cared right now as he looked down to the other.]

[ Well-- this was certainly a surprise and suddenly the air became tense and loaded. Emet-Selch was not dumb, nor did he miss the very subtle clues. He reasoned that there were certain cues that were as ancient as time itself and certain 'mating' instincts reigned supreme, they reached beyond class, beyond race, beyond species. They were vital to the re-population of the human race-- but also there were certain comfort to it as well, a way of reaffirming life. He'd known many who had used their bodies to 'feel' something, be it desire, be it hope-- a reminder.

Let it not be said that Emet-Selch wasn't intrigued by Sigr-- he'd never been with a Hrothgar before and in his long path, there was always a urge to the new and the inventive that made the path less tedious. He knew that this would be where he would have to draw the line. He wondered vaugely if Sigr even wanted that-- and right now in this position, the dominating presence was Sigr.

His move--

Slowly, Emet-Selch lifted his hand however he did not move to touch Sigr just yet, instead-- he brought the gloved finger to his teeth and then he slowly and using his teeth, tugged the glove off his hand. The unspoken gesture being 'the gloves were off now'-- challenge was most assuredly accepted. Oh he wanted to see how far this was going to go-- he wouldn't call chicken whatsoever and he had a feeling that Sigr wouldn't either.

Once the glove was off-- he pressed a now naked palm to the furred chest, his hand would feel so decadently warm-- much warmer then what a normal mortal's hands would feel like, degrees warmer due to the creation magick that all but surged from the nerves therein-- and then he started a slow rub back and forth.

And that challenging, quirking smirk-- yes that was still there as well ]

shadowbringers

TOTALLY living for this rn

It's amazing. XD I love it.

Have fun responding to this one

Oh I did :3

This is positively delightful

I'm glad you're enjoying it. I know I am!

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I think I may just LIVE for Sigr-- seriously

Awww! <3 we already know everyone lives for Eme-oji.

Sigr is so right-- Emet-Selch is kinda honorable

In his... VERY odd way, yes.

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sorry this is kind of late. life got crazy this week. @_@

no apologies-- I am drowning in tags so it's all good!

<3~

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Challenge probably accepted

We all know cats like warmth

Emet's playing wtth dangerous fire I think

Basically, another day for him? :3

Emet-Selch just likes to live dangerously lol

Well we know THAT XD

good thing that Emet-Selch's kink list accommodates stuff like this