Backscene: Passions Run Hot Who: Viara Tremaine and Lillian Tharelle Where: The Lost Night (a whorehouse in Dairsmund, Rivain) When: Ferventis, 9:43 Dragon Summary: Viara is up to her usual tricks on shore leave, but there is a case of... mistaken identity that pushes her over the edge from friendly to angry. Luckily, she's held back from doing something that she might regret in the morning by a somewhat unlikely source... Rating: PG-13/M for some violence, language, and adult references.
It was a gloriously hot summer night in Dairsmund. Rivain was always on the warmer side, but in the middle of the year the air could become downright sultry - so thick and heavy with hot dampness that all but the most necessary of movements was rendered moot. Funnily enough, though, it was those hot nights that seemed to drive lusts wild - whether they were for flesh, money, power, or freedom, the summer months were often the most exciting and dangerous times to be alive. Thus it was no surprise to the Captain that she'd entered a new whorehouse called The Lost Night in the capital city of her home country and found it packed with bodies - many of them in various states of undress. In no time at all Viara found herself slowly loosening the top stays of her corsetted top, letting her neckline gape, and peeling damp red strands of coppery hair from her dewy neck. Hot breath reeking of alcohol mingled with the slightly spiced air and created a heavy, beckoning aroma.
The pirate was right at home.
There would be time enough for pleasures of the flesh - and oh, were there some choice men available this evening, her eyes greedily noted - but her thirst demanded that she sit for a spell and quench it. The Captain was feeling very saucy, and gravitated towards a table of unsavory-looking men playing a very intense round of Wicked Grace. Without much ado, the small Captain slithered her way in among the sweaty bodies and leaned forward, dark brown eyes flashing beneath long lashes, her finger moving suggestively at the little hollow between her collarbone.
"You boys don't mind if I join, do you?" The Captain made her voice a purr, and tipped back her ale to down the rest of it in a few swallows that worked the swan-like line of her throat.
Now, how could anyone say no to that?
~*~
Four rounds of alcohol later, and Viara was finding it difficult to remember if she'd played the Knight Dawn card tucked away in her bosom last round, or the round before. She slowly suckled on her lower lip and looked at the man across from her, who was actually a very good player. Damn him and his missing front tooth. She could feel every bead of sweat that was making its way down the side of her face and neck as he stared, waiting for her move.
"Mm, I think you might have me, ser." She smiled, all sexuality, trying to buy herself some time.
"Not let, m'little whore." He made a noise that was probably supposed to sound something like a sexual purr, but ended up sounding like some kind off vile gas rumbling forth from his chest. The man had to be a good...probably three times her weight, with an intensely fat neck. She watched as some sweat trickled down one of the flabby rolls over his gullet and didn't quite suppress her shiver of revulsion. He frowned at her.
"Make yer play, or if not, let's get this over'ith 'n get in the back."
As hypocritical as it was, Viara was offended at being mistaken for a whore. She used them all the time, but to suddenly find herself grouped among those of the oldest profession was insulting, and she clicked her teeth.
"I think you have me confused with another woman, mate. I'm much more than a whore."
"Oh-ho, p'raps yer a thief as well? Throw down yer Maker-be-damned cards and I'll win back my money, or I'll straight ta th'guards 'n have ye jailed fer bein' a lyin', theivin' lil' whor..." The man had started to stand up and lean over Viara, probably completely assured that his superior height and weight would intimidate her either into bed or at least into giving back her well-earned coin.
Viara was always underestimated. When the man leaned over, Viara pretended to wibble her lower lip in fear, eyes widening like a humble little fawn. It gave her enough time to sneak her right hand to a dagger at her waist, and flash the metal forward towards the quivering mass of fat that protected the sailor's pulse point, pressing in the tip with authority. His eyes bulged, and Viara pressed her advantage, grabbing his shirt and doing her best to pull him forward and down so that his thighs and groin would pull uncomfortably against the wooden tabletop and his neck would hit further into the edge of her weapon.
She was drunk, and so it was all not as smooth as she'd like, but she got her point across. Viara tried to not give away her unsteadiness on her feet as she slowly stood to be above the level of the man, speaking slowly, her tongue a little thick.
"Now...what did you say t'me?" She lifted the man's chin with her dagger. "I didn' hear you quite right."